


We Are A Team

by mytholizzie



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: A series of one shots, F/M, i will be taking prompts, we're going to be in this for the long haul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytholizzie/pseuds/mytholizzie
Summary: A series of one shots; canon-compliant, post-mj, fun AUs, you name it! I take prompts, and will try to update this on the reg (once or twice a week, depending on my working schedule).Chapter 8 (Tokens): Haymitch is stuck thinking about the tokens idea Effie brought to the metaphorical table; while she gifts her boys their gold tokens, Haymitch brings her something special - it may be the last time they see each other, after allChapter 9 (Sandwiched): Hayffie involving lingerie (based on Elizabeth’s episode of Law & Order: SVU, in which she played a porn star who took her daughter to work and the set was interrupted by the detectives looking for her character) - prompt taken from the-hayffie-penthouse.tumblr.com
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	1. The List

Haymitch Abernathy hadn’t actually intended to sleep with Effie Trinket but, then it happened. It also wasn’t that bad, if he got her to stop talking for the amount of time it took for the both of them to climax. 

He had only intended to humor his friend whom he’d just about had enough of; the insistent bugging from Chaff to ask her why they weren’t on her list. Haymitch knew why and he didn’t understand why his friend didn’t get it; they weren’t ‘real’ Victor material. In other words, they weren’t hot enough for Effie Trinket’s standards.

Haymitch had watched his escort flirt with, gently touch and laugh at the jokes of his fellow Victors for years, and he’d always ignored it, he had thought she was busy working her charms for securing sponsors or networking for other reasons for the following year’s Games. It hadn’t been until everyone was in the midst of being enraptured by the 67th Games -in which everyone and their mothers were rooting for Augustus Braun to win- did Haymitch even become aware Effie had a thing with any of the Victors. Up until that point, she’d managed to keep her thirst for sleeping with the ‘enemy’ discreet.

But, it was at some point during the 67th Games that Haymitch caught Effie in bed with Silas, the Victor from District 5, who won the 53rd Games: she’d flung her expensive shoes in the direction of the door when she’d caught Haymitch’s smirk around the wood. The following year, he found her in a very compromising position with Brutus: Haymitch had gotten back to the penthouse at around 11:45, which could be considered early by his standards, he had not expected, nor welcomed the sight of his escort, front pressed against the glass of the ceiling-to-floor windows for the Capitol to see, while Brutus railed into her.

By the year Annie Cresta won, he had learned to stay out with Chaff until at least past 2 a.m. when she’d send home whoever it was she had taken to bed. Effie had not resolved on heading to another place with her Victors, that would have been much too complicated.

It had been Finnick who’d dropped the bomb on the list Effie had compiled and had already worked through, he too, had been itching to get on the list, since he, like Chaff, thought she had a fantastic behind.

“Yeah, I found out from Brutus. That guy was bragging about having been there and done that.” Finnick offered, with a roll of his eyes, as he feigned disinterest and played it off as just another piece of gossip. He was truly disdained though, he hadn’t made Effie’s list.

“What are you saying, boy? Shouldn’t you be getting back and taking care of your girl?” Haymitch grumbled around the lip of his tumbler, as he tossed Finnick a swift glare.

“Oh, don’t start him up again, lad. You know how he is with that bloody escort.” Chaff laughed and slapped his own thigh, he was obviously feeling too jovial but, the boy brought down the mood again.

“You know we’re not on her list.” Finnick huffed, his eyes were starting to cloud and the comfortable din around them had started to ring in his ears, “I’m too young for her, apparently. Chaff’s a bit out of her age range and you, well...” He tipped his chin at Haymitch while Chaff decided to go off.

“ — I’m only seven years older than this boy-o.” Chaff flung his arms in the air.

“ — me what?” Haymitch glared. 

“Well, you’re -- you’re you.” Finnick continued but, shrunk into his seat, fearing Haymitch’s murderous glare.

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” Haymitch turned to his older buddy, Chaff, and winced before he turned back his gaze to Finnck.

Chaff got the message for help in the younger man’s eyes, it was a plea bargain, “He means you’re a disgruntled drunk. We both are. The lad’s the only one of the three of us she would sleep with if he were older.” Chaff winked at the younger man, “So, what’d Brutus have to say?”.

"Does it fucking matter what Brutus had to say?" Haymitch hissed and tossed back the last of his drink before he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. The inaudible exchange between Chaff and Finnick did not go unnoticed, and Haymitch glared at both of them. He huffed again and explained, "Walked in on that shit, don't need to hear what Brutus has to say."

"Woah, woah, woah, you've been withholding this information from me for all this time? I thought we were best friends." Chaff outstretched his arms as if inviting Haymitch to embrace him, "What did you see? You can tell your uncle Chaff." He smirked and nodded encouragingly, waiting for the tawdry details.

"I doubt you'd be asking if this was about your escort, Chaff. How old is she now? Almost time for her to be replaced with a newer model, right?" Haymitch tittered and smirked.

Chaff didn't disagree; his escort was no Effie Trinket. Olive Satinbaum did not cut the typical Capitol figure. She wore the corsets and the form-fitting fashions of the city, the wigs and makeup were always on point but, she could never contend with the younger, prettier escort that came in the shape of Effie Trinket. Were Olive had the breasts, Effie had everything else, including the most incredible ass. According to Chaff.

"Come on, you know you want to share those details." Chaff continued to persuade Haymitch to give over the details of what he'd walked into with Effie and Brutus. He'd rather not remember it, though. But, his friend wouldn't stop unless he gave in and parroted every sordid detail back.

Haymitch scrubbed over his scruff as he considered it. He gestured the bartender over for another round of drinks; if he was planning on retelling the story, he might as well have the form of liquid courage to be able to get everything out. As the bartender brought over their drinks and the total of the tab they'd opened, he passed the check over to Finnick and focused his attention on gulping down a huge mouthful of his glass.

"Don't know what you're waiting for." Chaff deadpanned and tossed back his own drink with a "hoo!" before he set the glass back down and refilled it. The older Victor got himself comfortable in the chair again, grateful for the high backs and wings that drowned out the rest of the noise from the bar, and kept their conversation discreet enough to not cause a stir among other patrons.

"Definitely wasn't her first rodeo. She knew what she was doing." Haymitch began, he was uneasy talking about his escort like that. He didn't like to talk about her when she wasn't around, he didn't think it was fair that she couldn't fight for her own honor. And, he enjoyed it when she got to the point that was just past pissed and she would rage off in that incessant manner. Still, the need to satisfy his friends' hunger and that he just didn't want Chaff ragging on him decided Haymitch's choice to share the details of Effie and Brutus's encounter.

"It's something I wasn't expecting to walk in on, you know?" He frowned, his cheeks already flushed but, he wasn't sure if it was the heat, the liquor, or the discussion of his escort with a Victor between her legs. Still, he pushed on, "It was after that weird space-themed party, everyone was wearing those things that looked like shower curtains. You remember that?"

"I do, not important." Chaff urged Haymitch to continue, and cast a glance at Finnick who was rubbing at his eyes in a feeble attempt to stay awake and half-listen to the details about Effie and the Victor who could probably snap all three of them in half.

"She looked a complete mess. If she could've seen herself, she would've been outraged: makeup all over her face, she looked even more like a clown than she usually does. And, the damn wig, hanging on by a thread. By the time I strolled in, looked like they'd been at it a while." He turned his eyes apologetically to Finnick, who was staring into his glass and trying to keep his jealousy at bay. Then, his focus shifted and he turned to Chaff, and searched for any reaction behind his button eyes.

"Where were they? What'd she do? Did she see you? Did he see you?"

"Up against the window, living room." Haymitch swallowed, his throat was parched, "She'd let him tear off whatever she'd been wearing at the party, it was in shreds on the couch. Looked like she'd tried to make light work of his shirt, too but, it was just hanging off him like he belonged in some catalog. She didn't see me straight away, couldn't even lift her head up from the glass, she was encouraging him, though. And, that woman is anything but quiet when she's being fucked."

"Language." Finnick chided, in true Effie fashion. He thought he was being humorous, it earned him another glare from Haymitch.

"That guy didn't care he had an audience: he glared at me, grunted, nutted and pulled out, was basically dressed before she even pulled her panties back up. She didn't know what had hit her. She looked too small to be taking a drilling from that machine. He's a bloody giant."

"She can take a pounding, I'm sure. As for Brutus, giant in stature but, I'm sure he's small in size. All the muscle is definitely compromised for something else, eh?" Chaff laughed and nudged Finnick's arm. He wanted the lad to gest with them, engage in the locker room talk.

"Maybe she heard about his enlargement surgery."

Haymitch sputtered and spat his drink out. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket and allowed his brows to raise, "His what?"

Finnick glanced between them both, "He had penis enlargement surgery. I thought you knew about that, it's kind of common knowledge, something the Capitols expected from him to keep up with his ever-expanding muscles." Finnick announced, "That was back during the 6--"

"The 68th Games." Haymitch chimed in.

"How do you know that?" Chaff questioned, turning to Haymitch.

"Year I walked in on them going at it."

"He also said he'd had her the year before, too." Finnick added, he almost sobbed at the statement, wishing he was both older and didn't have his Annie back at home.

"Well then, that settles that: she took the pony for a ride and came back the next year to ride the stallion." Chaff slapped his thigh again and tossed back the remainder of his drink. He contemplated for a minute, "You think Brutus has a bigger dick that any of us?"

"— Doesn't matter." Haymitch growled.

"— Doesn't matter." Finnick also rebuffed before he continued, "It's not just the guy's she wants to work through."

"Oh, now that's just..." Chaff scoffed and shook his head in disbelief, "You hear this, Haymitch? Your escort likes to freak it."

"Who's on the list, Finnick? And, how many has she been through? I mean, I know at least Brutus and Silas, from District 5."

"Brutus didn't say, just that there's a list, we're not on it. It's basically anybody who still comes to the Capitol and is within her age range. And, not a drunk." He exhaled and glanced around their local haunt; many of the Victors and escorts frequented that place, most of them he knew by name and face but, hadn't gotten to know them.

"You gotta ask her why we're not on that list, man." Chaff bargained.

"Finnick already told us; age range and not a drunk. What time are we at?" Haymitch asked suddenly.

"Almost 1." Finnick responded, "Why?"

"I'm thinking of calling it, had enough talk about my escort to last me until next year."

"You know there's still a few more days of these Games left, right?" Chaff concluded, "You're not escaping this talk until next year, and you're certainly not escaping Trinket's sexcapades." Chaff guffawed, "Come to think of it, haven't seen Blight around for a while, you don't think she's out riding that pony, do you?"

Haymitch inwardly kicked himself, tossed back the last of his drink, not being one to waste anything, and laid down a few bills to pay for his share of the tab. He stood up too quickly and had to steady himself on the purple velvet wing on the side of Finnick's chair, "I'm going to head on up, you coming?"

"No, I'll make sure the boy gets back unscathed, you go and mope about us not getting any of that fine ass."

As he made his way through the city and into the Training Center, all Haymitch could think about was the conversation between him, Chaff and Finnick, and how torn up the boy had been that he hadn't made Effie's 'to-do' list. He didn't care Chaff wasn't on the list, Chaff was never on any list, neither was he, given he kept most of his company with Chaff. He was a little bitter he hadn't made her list but, they worked together, it would be weird for him to be on her list. Wouldn't it?

He ascended the twelfth floor, the floor designated to those from District 12, and pressed his ear to the elevator door, praying he wouldn't be hailed with her cries filled with heavenly ecstasy. Thankfully, all was silent. The lights were also off and none of the Avoxes were around when he made his way through the penthouse to check if she was sleeping. No, nobody was there but him. So, he did want he always did when returning to the penthouse; he headed to the minibar and poured himself a stiff one to wait for her return.

When Effie finally reclaimed her presence on the twelfth floor, Haymitch had drunk through most of the bottle and was slouched on the couch, his shirttails hanging out from his pants. He'd managed to kick his shoes off and had sought comfort in raising his legs and planting his feet on the table. As she clattered along the entrance and into the living room, he noted she was swaying, she'd drank too much and already had bruises where whomever she'd been with had held onto her too harshly.

"Why aren't I on your list?" He questioned, he sounded pitiful and he knew it.

"What list?" She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Your to fuck list. The list of Victor you've been fucking."

"What I do and with whom I do it, is my business." Effie scoffed, she was completely taken aback he would ask her about her personal pastimes. How dare he?!

"We work together, why aren't I on your damn list, Trinket?"

“And, here I was, thinking you were completely repulsed and fed up with me.” Effie retorted as she crossed her arms across her chest like a petulant child. The powder puff lilac nest on her head was askew, and even if he hadn’t known about her ‘list’ Haymitch could have figured out what she had been up to before she’d tried to creep back into the penthouse for the night.

Before Haymitch could continue with his tirade, Effie continued on hers, “I really don’t know what all the fuss is about, it's not like you would even consider warming my bed, Haymitch." She chortled a high-pitch tweet, a typical Capitol fanfare of amusement.

"How would you know that?" He growled.

"Well, you're not exactly the poster boy for the Victors, are you?" She gave him a once over, "And, you've got yourself a nasty habit with the drinking."

"What about Finnick? He's certainly not a drunk. And he's a poster boy for the Victors."

"He's also only twenty years old."

"The boy's legal enough." Haymitch growled again, not quite sure why he was trying to push the boy in Effie's direction, instead of himself in Effie's direction.

"Don't think I don't know about his crush on me. If he were a few years older, I'd consider it." Effie pursed her lips once more.

He didn't miss a beat, "Why won't you consider me? You don't think I could live up to the great Brutus, or Silas, or what was his name from tonight?"

"Blight?" She offered and tilted her head, she felt the wig slip a little and corrected her stance.

Chaff had been right. 

Haymitch stood and roved carefully in her direction, "Sweetheart, you keep putting out for this many people, your career could be at stake and I ain't in any position to be completing those official documents, or puttin' up with getting to know a new escort this late in the Games."

He watched her, she swallowed and swayed a little, and he wasn't so wasted he would have placed his hands on her to steady her so he didn't get too nauseous and throw up on her shoes again. Instead, he noticed the bruises on her wrists and one that he hadn't seen under the dim lighting at her throat, "What's with the handprints, princess?"

Effie smirked and ducked away from him, "He looks like a sweet, tender man and one would hope that would transfer into bed but, that's not quite the case with Blight. He likes to be in control, which I don't mind, it's fun to be a little submissive at times --"

"Stop. Stop talking." Haymitch exhaled harshly.

"Pinned my hands first, made sure I couldn't touch him but, he could touch me. All of me."

The picture Effie was painting for him did nothing for his arousal, he could feel himself growing hard at the thought of being able to do the same to her. She wasn't as young anymore, they'd first met each other at the beginning of the 62nd Games, she'd just turned 20 and it was the year that Enobaria won but, she still had that coquettish charm, the virginal smile, the innocent glances down to a science.

"— found it so easy to just cover my throat with his hand. I know it made everything that much more exciting for me." She continued to explain, as her voice cut through his reverie, until he shoved her back and into the wall, and pressed his mouth hotly against hers. She tried to shove him back but, his hands caught on her already bruising skin and she groaned into his mouth.

He pressed his hand into the wall beside her head and pulled his mouth back, "Still not going to put me on that list?" He smirked as he watched her pupils dilate in the milliseconds it took for her to pull his face back to hers and mirrored the same desperation he had mustered when he'd pushed her against the wall.

As Effie grabbed at the front of his shirt -she didn't have the time or the energy to comment on his loose shirttails- and balled her fingers into the fabric, he took it as a sign to hitch up her dress; some puffy thing that looked like it belonged on a Christmas tree, and tugged at her panties. Effie didn't take any action to cease his movements, and instead moved to unhook his belt from its buckle and wrenched at his pants, tugging them over his hipbones.

His mouth was back on hers in what could have been described as a flash: stubble prickled her delicate skin, and he could see she already had slight beard burn from Blight's facial hair. He felt her hand at his chest, heaving him backwards so she could get out the fastest statement, and as he pressed his hand over hers at his chest, she removed hers and he was holding the telltale foil packet. 

"Put it on."

The moment the words left her mouth, it was evident neither of them cared she'd been with another man that evening. He followed her instruction and rolled the on the condom before he flicked his eyes between hers, not a word was uttered between them before he grappled her leg up to his waist and pushed into her. He caught the sigh that escaped her throat as she allowed her head to loll back against the wall for the brief moment she adjusted to him.

Effie shifted her hips, pressed herself down and ground herself against him to urge him to move, and when he did, wrapped her arms around his neck to anchor herself, while his moved to the small of her back. Effie hadn't expected slow and sweet, the position they were in defied the ruling for tender love-making, instead, she cried out each time he thrust into her or he changed the angle or nipped at her neck. 

Soon enough, even in the city that never seemed to need slumber, the only sounds that rang through the penthouse were her breathy moans and their thighs slapping together, coupled with the occasional grunt from Haymitch. As his groans increased in veracity to match the tempo of his thrusts, Effie felt the coils beginning to tighten in her stomach, "Haymitch, couch." She groaned and tightened her grip around his shoulders.

He dropped her on her back on the couch, her legs hooked around his hips in response and he grabbed at her pelvis before he shoved one knee under her thigh to moor himself in place. Within seconds, the thigh slapping, labored breathing and a chorus of moans erupted from the pair before Effie pulled him down onto her while they both came.

The silence was sustained, save for their labored breaths, in which she chortled and finally spoke up, "Looks like you made my list, after all."


	2. Spin The Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch is annoyed at Effie (and himself) because he suggested everyone play ‘spin the bottle’ so he could make out with Effie but, everyone except Haymitch is making out with Effie.

Haymitch’s face was like thunder as he watched the bottle spin past himself and point to Finnick for the second time since they’d begun playing. They’d gotten bored of cards and he’d refused to play strip poker as Johanna and suggested, so Spin The Bottle it was, much to his own delight.

As he watched Finnick grasp around the main girth of the bottle, ready to give another spin, he grunted and downed the last of his whiskey, as he watched the bottle spin on its side, whirling around the group several times before it started to slow and finally ended its pivot on Effie. Finnick and Effie. He glared at the young lad beside, beaming like a golden retreiver at the prospect at getting to smooch with the ‘hottest escort of them all’.

It was no secret that Finnick carried a torch for Effie, it was kind of adorable really; he got bashful whenever she showed up in some figure-hugging fashion statement or flashed a bit of her thigh or cleavage. Haymitch remembered being a young lad, with those feelings whenever he saw an attractive woman, so he understood where the lad was coming from, still he couldn’t help but glare; Effie tended to play up to his affections.

As Haymitch watched the young victor, how he pulled his legs under himself and sat up on his haunches, placing his palms on the floor in front of himself, and the escort, cotton candy haired, as she leaned gracefully onto one arm extending her body towards him, as she awaited his lips upon hers.

Haymitch gripped the glass in his hand, and as he reached behind himself to the side table he leaned against to grab at the bottle, he tossed the glass aside and went straight for the bottle, much to the amusement of Chaff and Johanna. He noticed how they flicked their gaze between him and Finnick who was closing in on Effie. Haymitch wanted to push Finnick over and lead him to believe he’d already drank too much that he couldn’t hold himself up. But, knowing haymitch’s luck, the boy would probably fall on top of Effie and he’d _**REALLY**_ love that.

He decided it was best to grin and bear it; if he was lucky, he’d be the next one getting to press his lips to Effie’s before everyone got bored of her getting to make out with everyone. He watched as the young lad pressed his lips to Effie’s tentatively; as if he were experiencing his first kiss -- the boy had a lover back at home, sure Annie was still needing to take her ‘crazy pills’ but, she was doing better than when she’d came out of the arena.

As he glanced back at Effie and Finnick, Haymitch caught Chaff’s smirk in his peripheral and glared at his buddy and whatever he was non-verbally communicating across the circle of victors, plus Effie. They had a habit of being able to do that; Chaff always knew what Haymitch was thinking, he had an uncanny ability or affinity, or _whatever_ to be able to read his buddy like a book. 

Haymitch was about to let it all slide, when Effie’s delicate hand slipped around the back of the boy’s neck and she held him against her mouth for a few seconds longer than comfortable for anybody to witness. He noticed that when the boy pulled back and relaxed back into his position in the circle, that the tips of his ears were as red as his cheeks, with a flush of excitement.

“Boy, do you need me to run you a cold shower?” Chaff interjected before Haymitch could even get a grunt of disapproval out, and his comment was not helping the situation. He glanced over to Effie, who nonchalantly dapped at her mouth with a napkin and gave a coquettish chortle in response to Chaff’s abhorrent comment; she usually detested the man.

“C’mon Chaff, the boy can just excuse himself and knock one out, we all know he’s sporting some wood under that -what is that you’re wearing, boy?” Silas, the Victor of the 53rd Games, from District 5 bellowed, a howling laugh as he slapped at his own knee before he clapped Finnick on the back, “Don’t worry boy, we’ve all been there!”

The boy was beetroot and allowed his eyes to dart around the circle of Victors, looking for anybody who could help bail him out of the situation. He reached for the bottle and pointed it at the Escort, “Looks like it’s your turn again, Effie.”

The Escort flicked her gaze from Silas to Finnick, and allowed her features to soften; almost as though she was empathetic towards him, as she placed her hand over his on the bottle and offered him an assuring smile and nod. She exhaled lightly as she felt Finnick’s hand slip out from under her palm but, she glanced up from the bottle and caught Haymitch’s glare.

Effie twisted the bottle and held Haymitch’s stare while it twirled in the circle amidst the company before it came to a slow stop; Chaff. She didn’t need to look away from Haymitch to know whom it had landed on, the whoop and the immediate presence at her side told her everything she needed to know about whom she was to lock lips with next.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Haymitch growled into the bottle he’d been nursing and pouted as he watched his friend pursue his escort.

The District 11 Victor, Chaff was like a walrus trying to mount a rock as he advanced into Effie’s space. His stump was semi-flailing in excitement as he tried to balance his inebriated form so he could use his hand to hold her close as his mouth did the talking.

Johanna noted Haymitch’s pout and nudged him, “Will you lighten up! You’ll get your share, just be patient. Whether it’s during this game or after, I’m sure she’d be _more_ than willing to let you tongue her.”

“Keep your hand where I can see it!” Effie hissed at Chaff, enunciating every syllable and keeping her words staccato, to emphasize the point she did _not_ want Chaff’s hand anywhere on her body.

“Could always charge in and save her, like a fucking knight in shining armor.” Johanna continued, as she scoffed at the scene playing out before them between Effie and Chaff, “I mean, she’s halfway there, you always call her princess, and looks like she needs saving from the big, bad Chaffy.”

“Knock it off, Johanna. You're almost as bad as the boy and his perpetual crush on her."

"You're really gonna sit there and pretend like you're not carrying a torch for her?" She responded, crossing her arms over her chest, automatically shielding herself from any advances Chaff might toss her way next.

"I ain't carrying any torch for anyone." Haymitch responded.

Seeder cut in almost immediately, "I wouldn't be so certain about that, Haymitch. We've all seen the way you look at her. Mostly at her ass, I'll admit, I have to agree with Chaff, I can see why you'd stare at that."

"That's the last time I invite you guys over for drinks."

"If you're so damn pissed, why don't you just quit the game, it's not like you suggested it or anything." Johanna hissed, as she made a grab at the bottle nestled between his arms.

"Actually, Johanna, he did suggest it." Porter, the accompanying District 5 Victor added with a subdued smile, "If anything, I'd say he just wanted to see if he could get lucky with her."

No rebuttal came from Haymitch's lips but, he frowned at the scene between Chaff and Effie, and shook her head as she pushed his away, openly wiping her mouth and incidentally, her lipstick off her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Haymitch heaved himself up, grabbing onto the armrest of the couch before he crossed to the mini bar to grab at another variety of beverage; the whiskey was too heavy for him now and he wanted to keep it light while he was among friends.

While he was at the bar, his hand hovered over the assortment on offer, the group played two more spins; Raya, the District 2 Victor of 66 planted a big, wet one on Wyatt, the District 10 Victor whom was the Victor of the the 61st Games. And, Johanna made a show of clambering into Chaff’s laugh, grinding on him and making out with him before she planted herself on the rug beside him and winked.

By the time Haymitch returned to the circle, a few of the Victors had decided to call it quits and head back down to their respective floors in the Training Center; Raya, Wyatt, Porter and Seeder took it upon themselves to exit the floor designated for Twelve but, not before Seeder warned Finnick to make sure Chaff got back in one piece.

As Haymitch deposited himself on the floor, back in his original spot, the bottle spun past him and landed on Johanna, and everyone froze. Everyone including Effie. She winced and shifted herself in position on the pillow she’d laid under herself, so as not to ‘get anything on her new dress’.

“I’m not making out with you.” Johanna announced without any hesitation, “I forfeit, Haymitch can take this one. He hasn’t made out with anybody in a solid fifteen minutes, it’s his turn to take one for the team.”

Effie turned her eyes upwards and met his scowl. She knew expressions, and if looks could kill, Johanna probably would have died a terrible, bloody death, by the blade of her own axe, if Haymitch had anything to do with it. When her eyes met his steely gray, she felt her cheeks flush and she pointedly cleared her throat, “I don’t even really think Haymitch wants to play this game, Johanna.”

“Oh, that’s hilarious, sweetheart. Haymitch is the one who suggested we play this, if you’ve forgotten already; too much time spent in the salon, is it?”

“That’s ridiculous, Haymitch wouldn’t su--”

“He suggested it so he could make out with you. I don’t know why.”

Effie allowed her mouth to drop open at the thinly laced insult she was certain was veiled under Johanna’s barbed comment, as she turned her focus to the District Twelve Victor.

Johanna scoffed and choked before she nodded, gasping for air as Chaff spoke up causing Finnick to flush again, “She’s still got that to-do list, I’m sure.”

Effie’s cheeks reddened at the mention of her list, she had hoped that that would have been forgotten but, since Finnick, Chaff and Haymitch were not on her list, they couldn’t possibly forget about it. 

Haymitch noted the inherent embarrassment creeping onto Effie’s face and he huffed, scrubbing his free hand over his stubble, “Give a rest, for once Chaff. You and I both know Capitols do it differently. It’s just sport.”

“If it was a sport, I’d be winning a gold!” Chaff guffawed and nudged his friend in the ribs, knocking into Finnick on his way back to his original position, almost winding him in the process.

“Keep it in your pants!” Johanna hissed and winced at the imagery.

“I think it’s time to get you back down to Eleven, Chaff.” Finnick nodded in agreement with Johanna. The last thing anybody needed was drunk, horny Chaff parading around the Training Center, after having scored not only one but, _two_ kisses with Effie Trinket.

“No, no!” Chaff waved his arms around, threatening to knock over some of the nearby vases and other delicate decorative pieces in the vicinity, “It’s just getting good, now that the squares have left us.”

“Finnick’s right, Chaff. You should head back down, you don’t want Seeder on your case. And I certainly don’t want her mine, or the boy’s.” Haymitch nodded, his tone stern.

Johanna and Finnick, as if on cue, stood and proceeded to haul Chaff to his feet but, not before he lolled forward and planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss against Effie’s unsuspecting mouth. She sputtered into his and winced before she leaned back, effectively pulling herself away from him and his typical wandering hands, to let the young Victors take over the responsibility of getting him back downstairs.

As she watched, she tutted and muttered under her breath, “For the love of God.” At one point, the three almost crashed into the wall and knocked down the expensive tapestry hanging there.

Once alone, the Escort shifted uncomfortably again before she chanced a glance across to where Haymitch was; he was still cradling the bottle he’d selected from the mini bar. Effie swallowed and smoothed her dress, hoping it would garner his attention, when it didn’t she picked off imaginary lint and lightly cleared her throat.

After several moments of distractive tactics, Haymitch spoke up, seemingly agitated, “I know what you’re doing, princess. I need time to think.”

“Time to think about what exactly?”

The words came out of his mouth before he actually had time to think and he’d lunged forward, depositing the thankfully closed bottle on the pillow beside him as he grabbed at her minute waist and locked his lips against hers.

“How I was going to do that.” He responded after a moment, breath slightly labored as he pulled back from her.

“You wanted to do that all night?” She questioned tentatively, a light shrug in her shoulder as she allowed the faintest smile to dash her mouth.

“Since we vetoed strip poker, yeah.”

“If you wanted to do that, why did you not just ask me?”

Haymitch huffed and shook his head, “Because I didn’t fancy getting the cold shoulder in front of those other two assholes you fucked.” He regretted instantly.

Effie pursed her lips, almost as instantly as the tiny smile had appeared, her expression flickered and changed. Her bottom lip quivered momentarily before she got her emotions under control and swiftly added, “Well, if we’re counting assholes, you make the third one.”

“Effie, look, I -- I didn’t mean that how it came out.”

“It’s fine. I know you all just think I’m some dumb, little doll who will spread her legs for anybody, and that’s okay that you think that. It’s how most people see Capitol women. You District-folk don’t understand how empowering or how much freedom we have to explore ourselves here.” She nodded, her Escort smile had returned.

“No, Effie, it’s not fine.” Haymitch added, “You’re right though, I don’t understand. I’ve been coming to The Capitol for years, still don’t get it but, you always seem to just let things slide off of you. I don’t know how you do it.” He apprehensively lifted his hand to tuck a stray curl from her wig back but, froze halfway between them and looked to his lap before he dropped his hand and sighed.

As she watched his hand lower in the space between their bodies, she allowed her expression to change once again; her smile faded into something he’d never seen before -- - disappointment.

“I know we only see each other for a couple of months during the year but, I think it’s important we--”

His lips pressed against hers once more. The flicker of disappointment that had washed across her face, a fleeting wave that crashed into the shore and broke before sweeping back amidst the tide, that had been what had encouraged him to lean in. To take her disappointment and toss away, show her that he could be there, he could fulfill whatever she needed. Even if it was just for the few months they got to spend together each year.

This time, his hand reached and tucked back the flyaway curl, his other hand rested on the curve of her hip, “That’s the last time I suggest we play games with others. I’ll just ask you directly next time.”

“I’d like that.” She nuzzled at his neck before she smirked and swiftly added, “Though, it was fun to watch you get jealous.


	3. I Call Dibs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My friend was coming onto you but you were clearly not comfortable so I tell them that I called dibs before they came in and they walk away and you slap me because you’re not a thing someone can call ‘dibs’ on but really, I said that so they’d move on because they’re kind of an ass

There were several things Effie disliked about Chaff; his leering stares, his wandering hand, his potty mouth -- the list went on. He’d tried to kiss her more than enough times, too though, Haymitch was usually around to diffuse any situation before it became something bigger. Effie Trinket was not the biggest fan of District Eleven’s Victor, Chaff and he definitely knew it, still, it didn’t stop him from trying to ‘warm her up’ to him.

District Twelve’s Escort was as far from being a ‘prude’ as anybody could imagine, though Chaff didn’t seem to understand it, he told her enough times that she was ‘prissy’ or that she needed to ‘lighten up’ when in fact, Effie Trinket did not need to lighten up; she was almost luminous when it came to fun, as long as it was in private and not something that would end up in the tabloids, and garner negative attention.

She’d had her fair share of scandals if you could call them that in The Capitol; when she’d first joined the District Twelve team during the 62nd Games, her lover sold a story to the media that was overly descriptive and shared every secret, sordid detail about their love affair. Since then, there had been the circulatory ‘are they / aren’t they’ stories every few months about her and whatever bigwig was the flavor of the minute, a celebrity gossip website had published an anonymous tip that she’d been seen going home with not one man but two, someone had snapped a sneaky picture of her getting cozy and obviously intimate with an unknown in the corner of a darkened club lounge.

Haymitch’s list of scandals was broad but, Effie’s was longer. Almost as long as the string of lovers she’d had over the years she’d been in the spotlight with District Twelve. With fame came the downsides though, most of those in the company she kept; mostly with Chaff. She knew he was a true opportunist at heart, and it was just who he was but, she couldn’t accept it. No matter how many times she stayed with her Victor, she prayed that his drunkard friend wouldn’t also decide to keep the same company but, she wasn’t so fortunate. Chaff was almost always there.

While Tributes were still being prepared, going through training, etiquette classes, fittings for costumes and Games clothing, the Escorts, Gamemakers and Victors, and whomever else was important enough to have been included among the aforementioned titles were partying through the evenings and into the nights. For the Victors, it was a chance to spend time with other like-minded people, for Escorts, it was a chance to rub shoulders with Gamemakers in hopes of turning attention onto them, in hopes of a promotion for the following year.

Haymitch hated everything about it all. He hated the frivolity, the jovial attitudes amidst the imminent certainty his selected Tributes wouldn’t make it out of the arena alive, again. He was always disgusted at blasé Effie was in the midst of the Games; attending parties, spending time with her latest conquest, or finding a new one. At the end of the day, he couldn’t hate her though, she did so much for District Twelve, and Haymitch knew he was lucky to have someone as organized as Effie Trinket.

As usual, Effie had been her usual ball of light and giggles as she made her rounds at whatever party they’d been invited to, and Haymitch, as usual, was lurking in a corner and sulking that he’d been made to shower, dress appropriately and be sober upon arrival rather than spend his evening at the penthouse ignoring the Tributes and getting himself blasted on whatever liquor the Avoxes could ply him with.

At some point between the fire eaters taking a break and the misplaced fashion show taking center stage, Haymitch had lost track of Effie, even though she was decked out in the biggest, most outrageous dress and wig combination he had seen to date. After the picture of her straddling the unknown at the club lounge had gotten out, he’d taken it upon himself (when he was in The Capitol) to keep a watchful eye on her; she was only a young thing and he wasn’t in any mind to lose her and gain a totally incompetent Escort in her place.

She had been minding her own business at the bar when he’d caught up with her -- Chaff, not Haymitch. Effie had just finished a conversation with a fellow Victor; Wyatt from District Ten. She’d been giggling, leaning into him, touching his bicep, and giving him the eyes, which Chaff had decidedly deduced she was in the mood and probably looking for someone to relieve some tension with.

He slunk into the space Wyatt had occupied and gestured the bartender bring him over his drink of choice and another for Effie, as he propped his elbow on the bar and smirked as he eyed her over. He took an extra few seconds to drink in the curve of her ass and her slender yet shapely legs from under the skirt of the dress she wore if you could actually call it a dress. Short was too loose a term to describe the belt she was wearing.

As the bartender placed the round of drinks on the bar in front of Chaff, he grabbed at the glass for him and used his stump to push the pastel-colored mix in Effie’s direction, “For the lady.” He purred almost, announcing his presence beside her.

She startled slightly, having not expected anybody to be in her personal space so soon after ending her previous conversation. She had not expected Chaff of all people to want to keep her company without his buddy (her Victor), Haymitch in tow. Effie eyed his suspiciously and then turned her focus to the drink before she met his dark, steely gaze, "Thank you, for the sentiment but, I'm quite alright." She beamed, her Escort smile as she raised her half-full glass of whatever cocktail she had chosen for the evening.

"Well, when you're not alright, you've got another drink waiting for you. And me." Chaff shrugged as he lifted his own beverage and hissed a little as he swallowed the liquid before he set the glass back down on the bar and smirked at her, "Wyatt didn't cut if for you, I take it?"

Of course, Effie wasn't about to spill her secrets, she'd already slept with two Victors, in hopes of securing promotion for the following years' Games but, without luck thusfar. By choosing an outlying District, such as Ten, she decided she could increase her chances of being promoted, rather than going straight for a Career District. She just blinked her ridiculous lashes and pouted, "Honestly, Chaff I can't imagine why women don't just throw themselves at you."

"You'd be surprised, love." He smirked, nay leered at her. He leaned forward as he tried to catch a glimpse down the front of the dress, to spy what little cleavage she had to offer. For someone so Capitol and so attractive, she didn't have a lot to offer in terms of breasts. She was no Olive Satinbaum, his own Escort. Still, what she lacked in breasts, Effie made up for in ass.

"Well, now there's a surprise." She exhaled. Effie made a big mistake; she took the straw in her mouth while she smirked at Chaff. It was basically a green card for him to press onward with flirting with her. And, she knew when Chaff was feeling chemistry, which was always, he could be near impossible to handle.

"Love, I can't say I'm surprised that you're surprised woman want to sleep with me." He started as he began to close the distance between them, "May only have one hand but, I definitely know how to use it."

"I have no doubts but, do keep your hand to yourself, or at least where I can see it."

"Where's your sense of adventure, love? Haymitch's right, you're no fun."

"I will have you know, I am fun. I just believe it's better to not get caught in a public place." Effie retorted, decidedly ignoring the statement that Haymitch had used against her.

"Oh yeah, none of us ever found out who that was, can I say it was me?"

"Absolutely not!" Effie hissed, wide-eyed.

"It's going to take more than that to keep me quiet, Trinket."

Effie stammered for a moment, not entirely sure what Chaff was insinuating; was he blackmailing her? If so, what was it he wanted? She wasn't entirely certain he would even be able to recall their conversation but, on the off chance he could, he would he tell? She turned toward the bar and leaned against it slightly, as she placed her drink on the surface with a gentle tinkle, "His name is Seneca. He works with President Snow."

"Not what I was looking for but, go on."

"I'm not going into detail, surely you don't expect that!" She clucked, only her head turned, angled so she could glare at him.

"Not one to kiss and tell, are we?" He guffawed and swilled back the remainder of his drink, "Maybe I'll just ask Haymitch, you're hitting that, right?"

Effie straightened and swallowed, her eyes remained wide as if she were caught between headlights, "Surely you're not eluding to Haymitch and I..." Her gloved hand raised, poised then lightly pressed against her clavicle in mock shock, "We have a strictly professional relationship. What Haymitch does in his free time is none of my business..." She narrowed her eyes at Chaff, knowing that most of Haymitch's free time was spent with him, drinking and getting into all kinds of trouble, "While what I do is none of Haymitch's business."

"So, I won't get anything out of you about those two men you took home last year?"

She swallowed again and feigned annoyance, "Can't you go and bother somebody else?"

"It's true then? The two men. Did you take them both at the same time, or was it a tag team situation?" Chaff grinned, once again stepping into her personal space, "You Capitols continue to surprise me, I never know with you people."

She turned to look him dead on, a devilish glower across her face, "What is it you want to know, Chaff? How I took those two men home and had them both at the same time? About the time I made out with Seneca in a club and because it was so dark, I let him touch me until I almost came then gave him a blow job in the bathrooms? The sugar daddies I've let do things to me? The Victor I've fucked?"

Hearing her speak out, in albeit the most muted tone he'd ever heard her use did something to Chaff and he briskly leaned in and pressed his mouth square against hers before he wrapped his good arm around her minute waist. The hem of her dress lifted at the contact and more of her legs were exposed, it was that tantalizing display that made Haymitch notice where both his buddy and Escort were.

Haymitch didn't even register that Chaff's mouth was on Effie's until he appeared at Effie's side, as Chaff had done moments prior. He nudged Chaff's arm around Effie's waist and scowled as his buddy pulled away, "What did we say about Capitols?"

"If they're game, they're not off-limits?" Chaff shrugged and downed the last of his drink.

"They're off-limits, buddy. Sure we were all about fucking The Capitol like they fucked us but, we don't need to do that anymore. They give us anything we want anyway."

"What if I see one I like?" Chaff countered, his eyes wandered back in Effie's direction and he noted she was still reeling.

Even in his inebriated state, Haymitch picked up on the eyes his friend was giving Effie and Effie's general disgust in the whole situation, "Then you ask her. Nicely." He huffed before he added, "Besides, this one's off the table."

"I'd like to have her on the table, if you know what I mean."

Effie visibly recoiled and turned away. It wasn't wasted on Haymitch that she moved behind him, almost as though she wanted to create a barrier, for Haymitch to protect her from his lecherous friend.

"Damnit Chaff! I called dibs." Haymitch raised his voice, causing several nearby partygoers to turn and assess the situation before they lost interest because it wasn't as dramatic as they'd hoped.

"What, when?"

"Before we got here, I made that bet with you that I could win her over before you'd managed to cop a feel with any woman at the party." Haymitch recalled their non-existent bet, "I called dibs on her, you could have your pick of the litter tonight."

Chaff considered for a moment before he nodded and exhaled harshly, "I'm sorry buddy, I forget about it. I'm going to try and find Laurel, she's usually up for it. See you next time, love." He muttered as he shuffled dejectedly away from Haymitch and his Escort.

"Dibs?" She questioned lightly.

"Look, princess--"

"You called dibs on me?" Effie's volume had knocked up a couple of decibels the second time around, "Haymitch Abernathy, I am not some plaything you can take turns with. I know to you District-folk it might so seem like that but, here in The Capitol, we take our reputations quite seriously."

"Sweetheart, let me j--"

"If you think for a minute I'm going to just stand here and be insulted. Well, I never. Never in my life have I had someone refer to me as an object or a plaything." Effie's tirade continued, "I assure you, I am not a piece of meat you can just toss around."

Since she wasn't going to listen or let him get a word in edgeways, Haymitch went along with the rant so had deduced herself to, "Yeah, sure. I called dibs on you. No other man gets to have you tonight."

He heard the slap before he felt the sting in his cheek. The sound ricocheted and even in the densely packed club, the sound reverberated around the room, as did the gasps and hollers that followed. Before Effie scuttled away in her towering heels, he caught the slightest hint of tears, he was certain they were tears of embarrassment. He allowed her several seconds, about as long as it took for the crowd to engross themselves in their own affairs before he took off to find her and to apologize - something Haymitch Abernathy did not do.

He found her outside, huddled on a bench in what appeared to be a rose garden, she was crying and tried to hide it the moment he arrived but, he caught her sniffles as she dabbed at her eyes in a bit to salvage her makeup before it turned into a disaster.

"Look, princess..." He started and looked over her before he exhaled shakily and took the seat beside her, "I only said I called dibs because I wanted him to leave you alone. There was no bet, no dibs."

Effie sniffed and peered up at him from under camel-like lashes, "No dibs?"

"None. Chaff can be--" Haymitch chortled and shook his head as he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, letting his hands dangle between his knees, "He's a lot. He doesn't do things by halves, that guy. You looked uncomfortable, as much as you annoy me, I wasn't about to let him force himself on you, or anybody else. He can be a bit of an ass like that."

"He kissed me." Effie whispered, "And, groped me."

"Sounds like you got off lightly, sweetheart. Usually, he's pretty persistent in inviting women to sleep with him, you're lucky I came over when I did."

"He asked me about last year."

"What happened last year?"

"Someone wrote to Total Capitol, saying they'd seen me taking two men home." She nodded lightly, "I did, it was quite an experience, actually. No doubt that story will resurface tomorrow."

"Nah, I wouldn't worry, he barely remembers anything, you're fine. I mean, unless someone else heard, then maybe you're not fine, and that story will be all over Total Capitol again tomorrow." He joked, "I can just see it now, Caesar and his headlines: TRINKET'S TEAM TAP-OUT or TRINKET TAKES TWO AT A TIME."

"I don't think Caesar would run with either of those."

"I'm surprised those two men haven't come forward, sweetheart. Who are they?"

Effie tensed before she swallowed, "It's not important, just know if they ever did speak out, they would be removed from their positions and I from mine. It wouldn't be worth it, for any of us."

"Trinket, you know you can tell me and I'll make sure they never spill what happened."

"Haymitch, I can't, it would just be too risky," Effie whispered, her tone was almost inaudible. She knew almost every five paces was a camera and microphone, hidden beneath a rose bush, in a window box, rigged up in one of the solar-powered garden lamps that graced the fringe of lawn and footpath.

"Well, if you ever want to share those names, just know I call dibs on being the first one you tell them to." Haymitch grinned and nudged her gently, "Let's get back inside before people start to think we're the one's who are knocking boots."

As Effie stood, she allowed the Escort in her to shine through, "Boots, in this weather, well I never!" She chortled and looped her hand through the small crook in Haymitch's elbow as they made their way back inside the party. 


	4. Clientele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot: I’ve become a regular client of yours and I want to know what it would cost to be your only client.

As he watched her pull on the second-skin-like dress and reach around herself for the zipper, Haymitch swallowed -visibly gulped- he, the bitter drunk had it bad for the escort who kept him company on his loneliest of nights; the nights when the memory of losing his girl became too consuming that he needed some way to get back at The Capitol for being behind her death (it was most definitely a murder).

His girl had been the light of his life, a woman who truly knew what she wanted and how to help him get what he wanted in the process. She was incredible, strong, intelligent and above all, she loved him like nobody else had done before and probably like nobody else ever would. Haymitch knew that he wasn't the most personable being to be around, and he hadn't bothered to make improvements on his outlook or demeanor for the Escort's sakes.

In the beginning, it had been Effie who’d be reluctant to take on the infamous drunk as a client, she figured that he would probably draw other miscreants and her reputation would decline. She took the chance, however, since he had been a Victor, and she knew that Victors had riches; he could pay.

The first time she’d 'gone home’ with him, he had basically pounced on her in the hallway of his penthouse, they hadn’t had time to remove clothing; pants had just been shucked halfway down his thighs and her minute panties had been pushed to the side as he’d folded her over the table and taken her from behind, and Haymitch hadn’t lasted long, it had barely been enough for Effie to have gotten a buzz.

The second time was a little less desperate on his part, however, Effie hadn’t really been feeling herself that day, and it was obvious that her reactions were thought out, calculated and forced as he’d rocked himself into her. She got even more aggravated when Haymitch spilled the contents of the condom on her as he’d been tying it off to toss it away.

He didn’t see her for a few weeks after that, at least five weeks went by, and he figured she’d either given up on him, found someone to settle down with or she’d found a decent way to earn money that didn't mean spreading her legs for the city's population - in The Capitol, that was something that was extremely dubious and hard to come by. 

Effie contacted him mid-way through the fifth week of staying away and he learned she’d just gotten too busy with the influx of clients that were dealing with the Games that were scheduled for that year; the District Escorts, typically not known by another moniker (prostitutes) and the Victors would often try to bribe, persuade and encourage Sponsors to place money on their District's Tributes, when the District teams didn’t put out, as Sponsors often hoped for, Capitol Escorts would be waiting to scoop up horny Sponsors with too much money who were looking for an outlet to blow both money and steam on. 

“So, you’ve just been on your back this whole time?” Haymitch slurred, swaying a little as he gripped onto the bottle neck tightly and tried to focus on one Effie, rather than the other three he could see floating on his peripheral; he wasn't certain he could pick out the actual Effie among the inebriated hallucinations of her.

She lowered her gaze and swallowed. He was not technically wrong, “Something like that.” Effie mumbled into the fur lining the lapels of her coat, “Are you going to let me in?” She turned her gaze up at him and blinked twice from under heavily lidded, heavily made up lashes.

He allowed the door to swing open wider and leaned back against it, as he took a swig from the bottle and looked out into the hall, to make sure the other person he shared the floor with hadn’t seen the Escort arriving at his door. Once Haymitch was satisfied she hadn’t been seen, he slammed the door back into its jamb with his foot and drank in the sight of Effie in the open-plan apartment. That time, he'd managed to last longer than he usually did.

All encounters after that time were smooth sailing; Effie typically kept her clothes on and Haymitch understood it was decidedly better for her to do so because it meant some part of him was able to take revenge on The Capitol for what they'd done to him, his family and his girl. He and Effie fell into a routine, every Tuesday and Friday night, Effie would arrive at his apartment, the penthouse, and they'd fuck in such a raw and animalistic state that it didn't warrant being described as anything else. Sometimes Effie would make Haymitch do all the work because she wasn't feeling up to it but, most of the time, he got his money's worth from their encounters.

One Tuesday night, Effie didn't arrive at the agreed upon time and Haymitch was ready to climb the walls after just ten minutes of anxious anticipation of the light rap on the door. It didn't come. At least, not for another two hours, or thereabouts. By the time Effie did actually arrive at his apartment, Haymitch was frustrated; he had cracked open one of his best whiskeys and his collar was more askew than usual when he wrenched open the door and greeted Effie with a snarl.

"I'm sorry, Haymitch, I should have called you earlier." Effie began and swallowed lightly as she peered up at his face, she noticed the obvious disdain etched into his features. It seemed to ease in her presence, though.

He grunted in response and all but yanked her inside by the wrist before he slammed the door closed in his usual fashion; he wondered how his neighbor hadn't complained about that yet. As he awaited her excuse, the drunk stared at Effie's feet, encased in the most erratic, Capitolesque pumps he'd ever seen. They were sexy as fuck. No matter what came out of her mouth, the only thing he'd be able to think about would be her legs wrapped around his waist and the point of those heels denting the backs of his thighs.

"The Gamemakers," Effie began. Either it was his drunken haze or she was a lot more skittish than he'd seen her behave before, "I extended my client list. By four Gamemakers." She nodded, "I had to stay to go over the details for them." Effie's tone was barely a whisper as she announced the plan the Gamemakers had prepositioned her with, "I agreed to it. It's a lot of money."

Haymitch still hadn't uttered a syllable, she hated when he gave her the silent treatment but, he wanted her to feel as agitated as he was. He almost instantly regretted his behavior, though when she turned and sighed. It was obvious her life was beginning to take a toll on her and mind. As she whirled back around to face him, he pouted and turned his gaze back to the shoes. He heard her hands clap against the skirt, cladding her thighs - he assumed she'd raised them in disbelief and just given up halfway through the gesture.

"Are you going to say anything to me?" She hissed slightly, as she shucked her shoulder free from the confines of the coat she wore. The last time she'd been there, she'd managed to persuade Haymitch to talk about his preferences, what interested him sexually and Effie had filed the tidbit away until that evening. Leaving the rendezvous with the Gamemaker, Effie had taken a cursory and freshened herself up at home. She had donned an almost virginal lingerie set, which was bound to have him quaking when he caught sight of her.

Nothing came. Not even a flicker in her direction. Effie Trinket was persistent, however.

"You're not even going to look at me?" She lowered her tone, it was spiked with something; malice, disgruntlement, a challenge, "I know you're angry, Haymitch. You have every right to be, that's on me but, all I want right now," the coat was dropped from her shoulders and landed in a pool on the floor at her feet. The fur-trimmed lining tickled at her ankles, "All I want is for you to take me bed and try to fuck the Capitol out of me..." Effie moaned daintily as she grabbed at her breast and gave a light squeeze, and that was enough to garner Haymitch's attention on her.

Haymitch felt his cock twitch at Effie's words, and the image of her standing before him, clad only in lingerie and those ridiculous towering stilettos. It was enough to make him unravel like the thread he'd found on the tie-backs of the drapes in his apartment. All he had to do was pull and everything would fall apart under his touch; much like Effie.

A fleeting moment passed between the Escort and the Victor, and during the beat, it seemed as though the world had stopped, ceased to exist, save for the two of them, caught between time and space. As quickly as the moment had begun, it ended. With Haymitch taking the two strides that closed the distance between he and Effie, and grabbed at her waist to pull her against him with a willful tug.

Her breasts crashed against his supple chest, and the lace of her panties snagged against the zipper of his pants, proving just how delicate it really was. Effie didn't miss a beat; she reached for the fly of his pants and gingerly unfastened the front, only to cup his hardening cock in her palm. Haymitch's hands remained at her waist for initial impact before he then skimmed up her sides, relishing the smooth, taut skin as the muscles snapped under the wake of his fingers.

"Sweetheart..." He groaned out as she wrapped her dextrous fingers around him.

"What do you want tonight?" Effie purred in his ear, she flicked her tongue against the shell.

"On your knees, tits out." Haymitch grunted before he helped guide her to the floor, hands on her shoulders until his fingers wouldn't reach and he then settled on brushing back and holding her hair from her face. It was a wig, he knew it was a wig, he still held it and fingered through the tangles as she watched her almost devour his cock.

Haymitch took pride in knowing he was bigger than average but, it was not a fact he liked to broadcast, he was not a 'peacock' as he had once labeled other Victors. He was impressed at Effie's gumption, however, and her lack of gag reflex as he began to thrust into her mouth. As he pistoned his hips to her mouth, he met a slight barrier but knew it was fine, and she was fine. She was a professional, after all.

He watched as her cheeks hollowed around his cock, reveled in how her tongue twirled around his head, the addition of her hands increased his pleasure ten-fold; one hand at the base, giving light pumps and trailing fingertips, nails along the length of his shaft, while her other hand deftly massaged, cupped, stroked at his thighs and his balls. He shuddered with the extra contact and the boost in visuals.

"Princess, we've been doing so well, I'm not about to nut all over your face, when I know there are other possibilities for that lingerie you've packaged yourself in for me."

He hauled her to her feet and smirked at the tiny gesture Effie made of wiping her mouth with the tip of her pointer finger, as though it were the most innocent of actions she could do. She knew exactly what she was doing, he knew it. Haymitch tugged her against him and was met with resistance; her palms flush against his chest, he growled and narrowed his eyes at her slightly.

Before Haymitch could process her actions, Effie had shoved him hard backwards and towards his bedroom. It was a calculated move and she knew exactly what she was doing; wanting to get him back to the bedroom, to get to the highly anticipated, main event. Haymitch, she knew was not a patient man, so he would eventually thank her for her semi-brutality. He stumbled and caught the back of the couch to steady himself and Effie in the process, before he found his feet and allowed her the pleasure of shoving him back until they reached the doorjamb of his bedroom.

With their close proximity, Effie smirked at the sensation of hot skin against hers and she turned her eyes downwards momentarily. She slicked her tongue across her lips before she flicked her darkened azure eyes to meet his steely gray surveillance, and deadpanned, "My, my, Little Haymitch is ready to play." She smirked, almost unable to contain her amusement at her innuendo.

"There's nothing little about me, sweetheart." He growled in response.

Effie knew how to play him, in order to get her money's worth for the encounter, "Oh, compared to most guys I've had the pleasure of servicing, yes, you're not little." She shrugged lightly, almost breezily before she then added, "There have been a handful of, well, more than a handful."

He did not like that, not one little bit. If Haymitch was angered before, now he was furious. He didn't like to be compared to other men, even though he typically kept himself to himself and bothered virtually nobody in the process, save for a few prostitutes and his drinking buddy. But now, he had a prostitute comparing the size of his penis to not just one man but, several others. He swallowed his rage with a bitter after taste but, he managed to keep his cool, "It's not all about size, princess. I can guarantee those other men you're talking about have no idea how to use their dicks."

He half expected her to challenge him on the topic but, it didn't come, instead he was met with a tender statement, "But, you do."

It was in that moment that Haymitch knew she despised her line of work; there was nobody for her to settle down with, she didn't really have the qualifications it took to find a decent-paying, honest job in the city. He swallowed, allowed the moment to envelop them both before she interrupted it, getting back to business, "You're losing some altitude, Mister. We'd better get you into that bed."

The shift in atmosphere didn't go unnoticed by Effie but, she decided to ignore it and immediately switched back into bossy, high-strung powerhouse, and shoved him urgently passed the door of his bedroom. With a final shove to his chest, he stumbled so hard, he reeled, lost his balance and fell onto the edge of the bed. Effie was at the side of the bed almost instantly, as Haymitch leaned up, feet planted on the floor and carved out a hollow between his thighs, wide enough for her to stand between them.

Haymitch skimmed his callous fingers dogged at her sides, he stroked lazy circles and delighted when he witnessed goose flesh appear against her porcelain complexion. As he roved over her delicate skin, he traded fingertips for nails, grazing and stroking with varying degrees of hardness. As his hands arrived at her breasts, he peered up at her, her hand was at his shoulder, and allowed her to remain steady on the monstrosities she called shoes.

It took Haymitch all of two seconds to reach her breasts; he used one hand to tug the material of the bra further down her body, until it stopped at her hips, blocked by the panties and garter belt she wore. His other craved her skin and he took one of her breasts in his hand. He squeezed, fondled with vigor as his mouth met her other and he teased her nipple into a taut, pink peak. 

Effie felt herself get hotter, wetter under Haymitch's touches. Her senses were all a-flutter. As she got lost in the sensation of his stubble against her breast, the short, prickly hairs scratched at her skin, she was tugged into his lap. Effie rutted against his groin, the hardness of his cock caused the much needed friction she sought, as she felt his hands at the backs of her thighs, as they crept the short distance to her ass.

She tried to use her weight to press him down into the mattress but, Haymitch had other ideas; he scooted back onto the bed and further to the headboard before he rolled over, and onto Effie. Tenderly, Haymitch gazed down at her before he leaned back on his haunches and tugged his shirt up and over his head, not submitting to unfastening the buttons. He tossed the shirt aside and cleared his throat in light embarrassment; he had forgotten about his scar.

Effie tried to grind herself against him but, he was too far away as he discarded his pants before he returned between her thighs and fixated on her, as if she were the only thing that counted. Haymitch swallowed, his jaw clenched and she watched the rhythmic pulsating of his jaw twitch as he began to grind his teeth, looking for his next comment, it came as a surprise.

"Do you trust me?"

"What?" She posed, her lips parted slightly.

"Do you trust me, sweetheart?" He pressed again.

Effie hesitated but, gave a minute nod. After a moment, her nod developed, she was confident in her response to his question, "I trust you.I know you're no--"

"Don't say it. Please, don't say it, princess." 

His plea was overwhelming. With just those few words, he spoke volumes and Effie nodded, in awe of him. She watched as he laid waste to her garter belt, he had wanted so badly to snap the clasps and watch as the elastic caused ripples against her thighs on impact but, it was not the moment for that. Haymitch courteously lured her panties along the delicate curvature of her thighs, past her knees and retracted them from her person, leaving her bare, save for the stocking and heels.

He reached over her and as he rummaged through the drawer of the side table, Effie found she could not snatch away her gaze from his face, his shoulder, his bare chest above her before he returned to her focus, hovering above her with a telltale foil packet in his hand, which he discarded on the bed for a few moments, as he leaned down to press his mouth to hers. Haymitch transversed her body, peppered her skin with kisses. 

As he reached her core, he slicked his lips, "Trinket, you've been wanting a caveman like me for a while, this is impressive." He smirked. He stroked her into a frenzy, and once he added his tongue, he felt the vice-like grip on his hair, as her fingers tangled between his dirty blonde strands and she mewled in pleasure.

He knew she was more than ready for him but, he could guarantee none of the other men she serviced had ever gone down on her for her own pleasure. Haymitch wanted to be the stand-out for Effie. After several, almost eternal moments, and a handful of mini bursts from her, he traveled back up her body, and pressed his mouth to the nook between her jaw and her ear. 

He took the lull in action while she composed herself under him and caught her breath, to roll on the condom. He took another moment to study her; her expressions, the flickers of pleasure, want, need that crossed her face all at once. As Effie's eyes fluttered open and blinked at him from under those accentuated lashes, he saw that her pupils were blown already. Their exchange was silent but, her nod of approval was all he needed before he nudged himself inside her.

Effie's hands moved directly to his arms, as he gently canted his hips to hers in shallow thrusts. She allowed her eyes to flutter closed once more until she felt his lips at her throat once more, and she scooted her hands to rest at the nape of his neck and in his hair. Effie pushed her hips up to meet Haymitch's on each jerk of his hips but, he grabbed at her calf and her ankle, and locked her legs around his waist, as he began to thrust a little more.

Everything seemed to happen in a blur; the sensation of her skin against his, the tiny gasps and moans she emitted whenever he hit a particularly sweet spot, the way her hot breath puffed against his ear and the subsequent flick of her tongue to moisten her lips. It wasn't until they were both covered in a light sheen and her moans had turned desperate, did Haymitch realize that he'd really fallen for her, or how she behaved.

He hitched himself up and held his weight on his hands as he propelled his hips against hers with clout. He felt her legs tighten around his waist, she squeezed, trapping him in place before she flailed under him, heralding the arrival of her climax. Effie went dead still, with the exception of the ripples and quivers that overcame her body, and the series of short, high-pitched moans she let out as she came. 

It took Haymitch three more thrusts as Effie's waves ebbed to calm before he came with a series of grunts and collapsed on top of her for a moment it took for him to regain control of his breathing. For fear of crushing her, he began to extricate himself from her but, as he began to pull out, her legs tightened around his waist again.

The two shared a prolonged silence. It was comfortable, familiar, in which they studied the other's expressions, how the sheen of their exertion highlighted and glowed as it beaded and trickled down cheeks, temples, gathered in the hollow between collarbones.

Finally, Effie's thighs liberated Haymitch from their confines and he pulled out of her, he received a groan at the absence. He sat up, and pulled off the condom, and ensured that he tied it off carefully before he discarded it. When he had turned back, Effie had turned on her side and was facing away from him but, the curve of her hip was tantalizing; if he were younger, another round might not have been too farfetched in his mind. 

As Haymitch shifted slightly, he cleared his throat and scrubbed at his nape with his fingers, "Do, uh, do you need anything, sweetheart? Money's on the side there, if, you know, when you're ready." He frowned at his own awkwardness. This had never happened before. When she didn't respond, he leaned over slightly and peered at her face. Initially, he thought she might have been crying but, the lack of uneven breaths told him otherwise, his glance at her face proved that. She had fallen asleep.

At some point between understanding she had passed out and cracking his eyes to see her struggling with the zipper on the dress that had seemingly magically appeared out of nowhere (he figured she'd brought it in the purse she'd been carrying when she'd entered his apartment), Haymitch too, had fallen asleep. The only thing that had woken him had been the shift in weight as she had returned to the bed to encase herself in the dress.

"You're not leaving already, are you?" Haymitch murmured.

"I already stayed too long." She replied, not turning to look at him but just casting the comment out over her shoulder. The switch in her tone was not lost on him, "I have to go, the Gamemakers..."

"Princess, come on." He began, not knowing what he was going to say or how he was even going to get his message out. Haymitch was not known to be eloquent with his words, what would make this time any different?

"The Gamemakers are going to be waiting for me." Her voice sounded too small now.

"It's obvious you don't want whatever deal you made with them. Why even bother?" He sat up now, propping himself against the abundance of pillows that often took up more space on his bed than he did.

"I have to." Effie's head bowed and she stared at her lap.

"How much are you going to make from this... this thing they want you to do?"

She visibly flinched, "It's a lot, okay? Now, please, I have to go. I'll see you again on Friday." She stood and eyed the cash on the side table, she still hadn't turned to look at him.

"How much?"

Effie hesitated, her eyes riveted on the cash Haymitch had left out. After a pregnant pause, she replied, barely audibly, "Hundred thousand."

Haymitch shuffled himself across the bed and planted himself in the space she'd previously occupied, still a little warm from her minute body having taken up the tiniest sliver of bed, "One hundred thousand?"

"Yes. It's a special request, I don't have a price list for what they requested, so that's why I was late, and that's why it's so expensive for them. But, it's their money, so they can do whatever they want with it."

"And, what do they want, for that much?"

Again, she hesitated but, she finally turned to face him though she did not meet his gaze. She considered lying to him, using slang she knew he wouldn't understand but, she owed it to him to tell him the truth. Of all her clients, Haymitch was by far the most subdued, normal man. She turned her eyes to meet his and swallowed; Effie Trinket, usually so full of gumption and confidence was lost in his eyes.

"They want group sex. All four of them with me at the same time. One of them wanted to film it, I told him no. If he thinks for a minute that he is going to record it, for personal or whatever other reason, I told him that I would clean him out, and alert his wife of whatever he was into, so she could do the same for him."

Effie's comment had bite. And, Haymitch was afraid of it. He knew that woman could be lethal, if she wanted to be. He swallowed and teased at his stubble with his fingers and palm. He flicked his gaze between Effie and the cash waiting for her before he spoke up, "How much to make them go away? How much to make all of them go away?"

"What do you mean? Certainly, you're not implying that you have them killed?"

"Relax, sweetheart, I mean to buy them off. Maybe I don't want to share you with gang bangers," so he did know the slang, "or perverts who want you to do weird stuff for them."

"Haymitch..."

"Come on, princess. You're really not comfortable doing all of this shit, are you?"

Effie frowned, she hated when other people were right about her. She sighed and shook her head. Effie didn't look at him to know that he was serious. He had some kind of paternal aura around him that made her feel like he wanted to protect her from anything and everything.

"Does five thousand a week sound fair to you?" He offered, "I can raise it, ten thousand."

It was then she looked up at him, her eyes were wide, saucer-like, "You would give me ten thousand a week to not sleep with anybody else?" She questioned lightly, as if he had gone mad.

"Of course, I'd pay you the extra if our regular arrangement still stands. So, really, you'd be getting twelve thousand each week."

Effie mulled it over; twelve thousand peer week, one man for two nights. She would have enough time to return to night school and finally finish her diploma in fashion design and marketing. She could sit pretty for the other five days of the week without having to bother getting herself gussied up for some 'weirdo' as he had put it.

Almost as if he had read her mind, Haymitch responded, "It's a win-win, sweetheart. You get security of having a constant paycheck and I don't get jealous of having to share you with other guys."

Effie responded with a nod first, her mouth moved but no sound came out. After a moment, her voice cracked and she found her voice, "Okay. I'll do it. One condition."

"What's that, princess?"

"You don't mention this to anybody, not even your best friend."

"Hey, I'm not going to tell anybody, you think I want my buddy trying to score himself a deal so sweet?" He smirked and reached out for her, to help her with the zipper, it had a few teeth left to close, "I'm not just a pretty Victor, sweetheart. I do have a heart, somewhere."


	5. Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch’s girl is still alive and living in District 12 Victor’s Village with Haymitch, and every year when Effie shows up, Effie gets jealous of seeing him with someone he loves, and why is he not with her?

It was almost that time of year again: the time of year _everyone_ loathed. It was time for the Victory Tour. All the previous, living Victors would get dragged out from beneath whichever rocks they’d situated themselves under since winning their Games, in hopes of some semblance of normality, and they’d get paraded around The Capitol, just like the coming Tributes following Reaping Day later in the year.

Those things meant a lot to both the District 12 Victor, Haymitch Abernathy, and the current District 12 Escort, Effie Trinket. To Haymitch, that meant he would be dragged out for all of Panem to see what kind of state he’d spiraled further into; it was no secret that he was dependent on alcohol to get through his darkest days. And, for Effie, that meant her having to traipse across the country, collect her Victor and return to The Capitol with him.

For both, it was easier said than done.

Haymitch usually played along with whatever dramatized tirade Effie brought with her, and she typically rebuffed any and all back-handed insults from him. The two were the polar opposite of one another, so much so, they complimented each other. What he lacked in manners and all round general hygiene, she made up for with her perfectly manicured and coiffed façade. And, what she lacked in the ability to act on impulse, he usually gave her heart palpitations at how much he acted on impulse.

During the past number of years, things had become increasingly difficult for them both. Haymitch and his girl had been going through a lot, mostly, she’d been ‘nagging’ him to finally settle down and put a label on what they had. It was a wonder she’d survived, given the stunt he’d pulled during the Quell but, he’d warned her before he’d left District 12 before the Games, that if she saw anything that could potentially mean Peacekeepers coming for her, to run. And, she had done. That was before they’d put in the electric fence.

Effie had been shuttling back and forward between District 12 and The Capitol for almost seven years now, and whatever initial feelings she had for Haymitch had been swept under the rug, almost as quickly as he finished a bottle of whatever bootlegged alcohol she could bring him. Each year, it didn’t get easier, as she thought it might, apparently, absence _did_ make the heart grow fonder.

As the Escort arrived in the Victor’s Village, wrapped in a bundle of flowing fur, that was apparently **_ALL THE RAGE_** in The Capitol, she flicked her eyes around the ghost-town where her Victor inhabited. It was basically a ghost-town, nobody else lived there. The other remaining Victor from 12 had passed away just a year after Haymitch had been ‘crowned’ Victor of the 50th Hunger Games.

 _She_ was the first person Effie saw, hanging around the window, no doubt awaiting the Escort’s arrival on the front porch, with her radical air kisses and graceful gestures all the way from The Capitol, as she slyly plied Haymitch with a fresh bottle from the hand-muff at her waist.

“I love you. I love _you_ more.” Haymitch beamed, first to Effie whose cheek he pressed a sloppy, overly-familiar peck to and then the fresh, unopened bottle she’d thrust into his hands before even greeting him properly.

The Escort would have melted into the brief, almost non-existent and definitely not thought-out peck to her cheek, if _she_ hadn’t been standing awkwardly in the background. The mousy haired, gray-eyed, somewhat sallow-skinned love of Haymitch’s. _She_ was the reason Effie contained her emotions, not the countless berating of her parents, the professors at her Academy, Capitol celebrities...

“Well, I like what you’ve done with the place. Makes a change from the drab and dreary from last year. You must have paid attention when I wrote those countless letters. You _did_ read them?” Effie poked, as she freed herself from his grip.

The meek-looking love of his life spoke up, answering a question that had not been directed at her, “ _I_ read them, he wasn’t interested in the details. No offense, it’s just not his thing.” She nodded, the stray tendrils of hair whipped at her cheeks under Effie’s scrutinous gaze.

Much to Effie’s surprise, she found herself humoring the woman, “Well, it seems to have paid off. The duck egg shade is very in this year, dear. And, if I could be so bold --”

“Are you ever anything else, Trinket?”

That comment earned him both an amused gape from his girl and a gasp of disbelief from his Escort.

“Well, I never!” She placed a delicately gloved hand above her cleavage. It was covered, for once. Her outfit was quite demure, more reserved than most of the fashion statements she usually wore.

“Come on, princess, you know what I mean.” He tried and smirked at her, as he flipped his head and tossed his hair out of his eyes. It was longer than it had ever been, and more sun-kissed than anyone had seen it before. He’d obviously spent a lot of time outside over that summer.

His girl heard the whistle of the kettle from the kitchen and excused herself to begin preparing the tea she prepared each day. Prepared, he would tell anyone she forced him to drink it.

The Escort watched as the woman disappeared past the door jamb and along the hall to kitchen. She was a little older than Effie, maybe a year younger than Haymitch but, compared to Haymitch, anybody could look younger than him; the alcohol had not been the kindest. 

Effie usually had her fun in The Capitol, during the months of the year she wasn’t needed on the Victory Tour or in District 12 for Reaping the next unlucky Tributes for the following Games but, the previous year, even the year before, something was different. She’d had her fun with Brutus and Silas, and a few other Victors, and then there were the eligible bachelors and some not-so-eligible men and women she’d spent the night with. Something didn’t quite do it for her, though.

Every year she came to Twelve, Effie watched the man she was responsible for escorting across the country; she watched as he sat in his study sometimes with _her_ on his lap while they both read a book, she watched as he pulled _her_ into a swift yet meaningful embrace when Effie was to drag him to The Capitol, and noticed the tears in _her_ eyes. That was something Effie wanted.

With his girl out of the room, Effie took a brief turn, surveying her surroundings before she turned back to Haymitch, his smirk did not go unnoticed and she cocked her head to one side, like a curious spaniel.

“You hate it, don’t you? You can say it.” He prompted her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Haymitch.”

“Sweetheart, I know you hate the new decor, you made _the face_ when you saw the color combinations or whatever you want to call them.”

 _He_ has _been paying attention all this time!_ was Effie’s first thought. Her second was that he had noticed her fleeting expression of distaste. They’d spent enough time together over the seven-ish years they’d been crossing Panem twice a year for him to have picked up on the most minute of micro-expressions she made.

“It’s the wrong shade for this room. There isn’t enough natural light for this shade to look good.” She responded coolly. Her arms were folded across her chest in some act of defiance, he assumed, “And, that wood!” She tutted, clicking her tongue to her teeth as she shook her head in horror, “You should be grateful I showed up before the cameras did.”

Another smirk from Haymitch, this time, it was more a toothy grin in her direction. And, for the first time in a while, he placed down his life raft: his bottle of liquor onto the side table _(”Without a coaster? Really, Haymitch!”)_ and crossed the short distance to where Effie occupied the most diminutive of spaces. 

“What’s got your panties in a bunch, sweetheart? You seem... agitated, at best.”

“ _Nothing_ has my _panties in a bunch_ , thank you _very_ much!” She huffed.

“That tone tells me otherwise, princess.” Haymitch chortled in response.

Effie narrowed her eyes at him and glared -- if looks could kill. Momentarily, her expression flickered, bartered with her subconscious to let just the smallest hint of something else through. Her eyes dropped when it registered that Haymitch had witnessed the quick metamorphosis.

“What is it, Trinket?”

She exhaled shakily and shook her head, “It’s nothing.” She turned for a brief moment, to compose herself before she whirled around, her usual Escort façade neatly back in place, as she continued to survey the mistakes Haymitch and his girl had made with the redecoration.

After tea, some homemade scones and a quick shave on Haymitch’s part, he and Effie were ready to head to the location for a District photoshoot. Typically, The Capitol photographers would send out a scout a week or two before the Escort and Victor(s) were supposed to leave whichever District they were traveling from, in order to make sure there was somewhere suitable for them to be photographed for the upcoming Victory Tour. As Effie stood near the front door, she watched as _she_ helped Haymitch tug on his coat and a quaint beanie before he turned and ducked slightly, so a scarf could be looped around his neck. He pressed a kiss to _her_ cheek and turned to leave.

Outside, traipsing on the already uneven ground, now made more treacherous with the freshly fallen snow, Effie was finding it difficult to keep up with Haymitch’s long strides. He was a man who didn’t care for the grandiose Capitol actions, he was just a simple man, and the faster they got to the shoot, the faster they could be on the warmth of the train. It did not take long for Effie to stumble, though and he stopped, his breath came out in an undignified, irritated cloud.

“You couldn’t have worn something more practical for walking?”

“If your roads and... pathways were better constructed, I wouldn’t need to side-step every few paces.” She hissed. She stopped and leaned against the half-fallen wall.

“There’s definitely something wrong, princess.” Haymitch furrowed his brows, his tone was gentler now, as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers.

“I told you, there’s nothing--”

“Yeah, you’re usually such a delight to be around...” He smirked and gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow, “What is it?”

Effie swallowed and dropped her chin, her gaze fell to the ground, too as she considered telling Haymitch what it was that _had her panties in a bunch_. She chewed the inside of her mouth and buried her nose in the fur-lined trim on her coat; she knew the tip was already pink from the biting cold.

“Don’t make me guess, sweetheart.” After a moment without a response from his Escort, he began reeling off some possibilities, “The store didn’t have the thing in the color you wanted? Salon wasn’t open on the weekend? Wig lost its shape? Your fav--”

“It’s you, okay?” Effie hissed into the fur of her coat.

He snorted at first. He was puzzled. Following a slight lull in their exchange, he finally spoke up and took up the remaining space against the wall beside her, “What do you mean, it’s me, sweetheart?”

“Please, don’t.”

“No, you don’t blame a man for something and then get to change the subject, Trinket. We’re talking about this. What do you mean, it’s me?”

Her pearlescent wig reflected the snow, she had a few flakes clinging to the delicate strands. She was blinding. But, the look on her face was pained. Usually, Effie was so effervescent, a room need not turn on any lights, she illuminated everything, and everyone swarmed to her when she arrived. She was this ball of glowing... everything! 

“Sweetheart...?”

“I don’t know.” She exhaled, her voice was minute, barely audible but, she continued, “I-- These two times every year, I always used to dread them because it meant leaving The Capitol to come here, a place where nobody likes The Capitol, or its citizens.” Effie stalled a moment, she glanced up at Haymitch, he was listening to her intently, “Now, I dread them because--”

He was waiting for her to continue, he was staring at her expectantly. The words that were going to come out of her mouth would not be something he expected, at all.

“I dread coming here because of how I feel about you. And, about _her_.”

“How you feel about me and her?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say, and turn it into a question? Really, Haymitch!” Effie tusked and shook her head, she turned to gaze in the opposite direction.

Another lull in the conversation. The silence had never been uncomfortable between them until now. With Effie’s revelation, Haymitch was unsure what she meant, he needed her to elaborate on whatever train of thought she was riding.

“I don’t know if it’s you or just what you have with _her_ but, I can’t stand to watch it.” A semi beat passed, not enough time for Haymitch to comment, “I see you making this life together: living together, decorating your house, the awful color palette that somehow works. I saw you even built that porch swing you told me she wanted.”

“Trinket...”

“I know I probably shouldn’t that to you but, I didn’t know who else to talk to about it.” Effie finally turned to face Haymitch. Her eyes were marshy, tears threatened to spill onto her perfectly powdered cheeks; she wouldn’t let them, though.

“You think I ever saw this coming?” Haymitch expelled his breath, “I never thought I’d ever get the girl. Sweetheart, if that’s what you’re worried about, that you won’t end up with someone, it can happen.”

“That’s not--”

“What happened to... what’s-his-name?”

“Haymitch, that’s not wh--”

“He was alright, gave you everything you needed and wanted, didn’t he?”

“Haymitch, I think I might be in love with you.”

That seemed to stop him. It seemed to stop everything; the birds in the surrounding forest even stopped chirping for a few moments. Time seemed to stop in the few moments that passed between her comment, his realization and him standing from the spot against the wall.

“Say something?” She murmured lightly, for fear he would lash out.

“What do you want me to say, princess?”

“I don’t know. How do you feel?”

“How do I feel?” Haymitch turned to her, his brows were raised, they were covered by his beanie, though, “Sweetheart, you’ve gone from chastising me about manners, telling me to shower or take a bath and breaking me out of multiple holding cells after nights gone awry, to I think I’m in love with you. That’s somethin’, sweetheart. It’s _really_ something.”

“I told you I said I _think_ , not I am.” Effie pouted.

“In my experience, think usually means you’re sure.” Haymitch smirked. When he didn’t get a response from her, she was still pouting, he pulled his hands from his pockets, placed them together and puffed hot air between them. After a few moments, he reached out and offered his hand to her, to pull her up from her resting spot.

Effie took his hand cautiously and swallowed, it broke the ice slightly and she cracked a faint smile before she tucked her hand into his arm, and they looked along the path to where they would be taking their photos.

“Let’s just get through whatever bullshit they’re going to have us do for this, and we can talk on the train, yeah?” Haymitch suggested, he tightened his elbow around her hand, so he could steady her as they walked, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Language!” She reminded him, “I could always write you another letter?” Effie smirked, knowing that he never read any of her previous ones but, he would most definitely be interested in that one.


	6. That Bloody Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot: Haymitch accepted a dare from his buddies at a party, Effie finds out and is livid.

Effie didn’t think she would have seen him again after that party. She imagined he would have complained to whichever Capitol official handled grievances from the Districts, and would have had her removed from District 12 duties. This party, the one where the two of them had seemingly decided that a little kiss wouldn’t hurt was what had caused the rift in their typical turbulent, professional relationship.

They had been so wrong about the kiss, their judgement had been all off. It was all wrong, everything about it all. From how he’d approached her, in one of his usual inebriated fogs at the parties she dragged him along to -drinking his way through them was how he managed to not get arrested most of the time- to how he’d snaked his arm around her minute, cinched waist and pulled her closer to him without rejection on her part.

The kiss has begun as a chaste thing, innocent on both their accounts until he’d deepened it and her eyes had fluttered closed under the spider-like mink lashes she favored for soirées. A straggled mewl caught in her throat and had escaped when his hand transversed the exposed skin at her waist.

When they broke away, it was Effie who saw Haymitch’s friends cheering and jeering that he’d managed to score with her and she was furious. She’d been used as one of his usual endeavors; to please his buddies. That Chaff was the one who was always behind any of Haymitch’s hijinks at parties, she just knew he was behind this one, too. With her eyes trained on the small group who had been watching the two lock lips, she teetered away with as much dignity as possible, in her dangerously high pumps.

Once she was certain Haymitch was watching and nowhere near his buddies, she strode over to the group of drunkards and gave them a piece of her mind, literally belittling him in all of her rage over the entire situation.

“Do you really think it was necessary to be cheering on your friend while he had his tongue down my throat?” Effie hissed at the group, all of whom were taller than her by at least four or five inches. She was this tiny spitfire in the midst of giants and rogues.

“Oh, come on, love…” Chaff began.

“Do not ‘love’ me.” Effie gave her rebuttal. Effie had already had it in for Chaff from the moment he’d first tried to make a grab at her ass at a party a few Games back. She eyed him carefully, scrutinizing his every move, micro-expression, every blink, “If you try to even give an excuse as to why you were cheering for that disillusioned drunk, you will lose your other hand.”

“You think he would just come over there and start up a game of tonsil tennis with you, of his own accord?” Chaff snorted, “He’s got game but, he ain’t all that confident with women, and certainly not when it comes to you. You’re a ticking-fucking-timebomb.”

Effie’s heckles rose and she audibly and physically huffed and in the micro-second it took her to walk away, she tossed whatever remains of the cocktail she’d been drinking over Chaff’s face, much to the chagrin of the others in the Victor group of friends. It was Finnick who rushed after her, she hadn’t noticed him before then.

Finnick was one of the young Victors, one who had a crush on her. Most of the time, Effie played up to it because she found his flushed cheeks adorable but, that night, she wanted nothing to do with the Victors, the Games, not even with Finnick and his soothing lilt; even his voice reminded her of the ebb and flow of the tide.

As he reached for her wrist to stop her teetering away and potentially hurting herself in the process, he briefly ceased her movements and glanced up into her face with wide eyes. They were like saucers; his delicate sea jewel eyes met her usually Tiffany blue, now they were dark and angsty, like the ocean during a presiding storm.

“Effie, look…” He started.

“No…” She sobbed. That was something he hadn’t expected, “Those men you called your friends embarrassed me in front of everybody at that party.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really call them my friends. They just took me under their wing because we’re all Victors and Victors are supposed to stick together.” Finnick swallowed and tried to get back on track, her skin was distracting him though but, he was scared if he let go of her wrist she would run away. He took his chance.

“Did you even see what happened? Who was it? Who told Haymitch to come over and kiss me?” She sniffled as she turned her gaze to him, her eyeliner had long worn off and one of her lashes was starting to peel from the lid.

He didn’t answer straight away and Effie knew that he was hiding something. Chaff had basically confirmed it hadn’t been Haymitch’s own idea to march over there and plant a wet one on her. He’d been encouraged, probably pressured to do it, to see what reaction he could get out of her.

“Finnick. Tell me. Who was it?” A swift beat passed and she continued, “It was Chaff, wasn’t it?”

The lad exhaled and glanced down to his feet uncomfortably, “It was Chaff.” He wondered about what else she would probe him about so, he decided it was probably best that he just come out with everything and tell her about it. It was the last night of their required attendance in The Capitol anyway, Haymitch and everyone else would be on the train back to their Districts come the morning.

Finnick swallowed and dug his hands into his pockets before he took a few steps, thinking about how best to break it to Effie, no doubt she would fly off the handle, she always did. With his back to her, his available hand leaned against the ceiling-to-floor window that offered an incredible view of the city below, he began to break the news to his favorite Escort.

“It was Chaff. You’re right. You know how he is; he’s always drooling over some woman or another, I know you’ve been in his sights a few times.” Finnick watched as Effie physically shuddered at the thought of Chaff thinking about her, still he continued, “They were all ogling the women, they always do. Blight had been dared to go and try pick up some woman who’d been giving him the eyes all night. When he was successful in his ‘mission’, Chaff dared Brutus to go do something, then Beetee, then me, then Haymitch.”

“What did you get if you completed the task?” Effie asked with a tiny voice.

“It was different for everyone; Blight got the chance to get a few new tailored things, belts mostly. Brutus, a new sword or something. Haymitch was promised unlimited alcohol the next time we’re back in The Capitol.”

Effie turned to Finnick, obvious rage in her expression, “He was dared because of alcohol?!” She almost screeched, a few of the lingering party-goers turned their way with surprised glances and whispered behind their hands.

“Effie…” Finnick tried but, she was too fast, too agile on those towering heels, even for him. Seeing her rush off into the hallway and round the corner was the last her saw of Effie for that year. He heard nothing about what happened once Haymitch got back to the penthouse, or if he even did get back to the penthouse - Effie probably would have made him sleep out in the hallway or in the elevator.

The following year, when it came time for The Reapings for the 67th Hunger Games, Effie arrived in District 12, as usual and headed straight for the Seam. She walked along the well-traveled streets to the square in front of the Justice Building, were the televised Reapings would be held. Of course, she had been in quite the jovial mood upon her arrival, ready to call out two new names for the schedules Games that year. That was, until she laid eyes upon Haymitch Abernathy, the lone Victor for District 12.

The Victor who’d happened to embarrass her in the presence of the most important people in The Capitol the previous year, all in the name of an abundance of alcohol to be plied by his good friend, Chaff. She had been livid, and she experienced the same rage she had felt that night, the moment she caught sight of his pathetic sway onto the platform of the Justice Building.

By the time she skittered onto the platform, her heels clattered against the stone and echoed around the square, partly through the microphone that had been set up for her, Haymitch was slumped over in a chair beside the mayor and was eyeing her as though she was a juicy steak. It unnerved her and she continued with the ceremony, covertly glancing back at him at any opportune moment she could. Effie noted that his eyes were transfixed on her ass almost every time she glanced over her shoulder at him.

Once the two unfortunate Tributes had been plucked from the crowd and led into the Justice Building to prepare to say their farewells to their families, Effie sought out Haymitch, he was in the bathroom relieving himself when she barged in and began yelling at him.

“Sweetheart, if you think I heard of whatever tantrum you just had, you’ve definitely been at the pills for too long.” Haymitch smirked at her through the mirror as he washed his hands and searched for toweling to dry them, instead he settled for wiping the excess moisture on his pants leg.

“You took it on as a dare?” She hissed, she continued, obviously choosing to ignore his not-so-subtle side comment.

“Will you relax, you’re causing a scene. People are going to think that you’re having too much fun with me in here, screaming your mouth off.”

“Well, I never!” She hissed and pursed her lips.

“Finally, something to stop you talking.” Haymitch glanced over at her. He folded his arms across his chest and lolled back against the tiled wall, “Now, you gonna scream at me at full volume, like a damn banshee or are we going to talk like adults?”

“Why do you always feel the need to insult me?” Effie shot back, she winced at how close she was to the wall. She decided that there were probably more sanitary places to discuss what had happened that previous year but, with the schedule she had finalized, there was little time to find elsewhere.

He chose to ignore her comment and powered on about the kiss they’d stumbled through at the party, “That kiss, it was nothin’.” He started. Wrong choice of words. Haymitch saw the swift change in Effie’s expression and added, “It was just a dumb party game, you told me before we left the penthouse that I needed to lighten up and try to enjoy myself.”

“But, not by making us the laughing stock of Panem, yet again, I might add.”

“That party was dark, barely anybody saw what happened. I don’t know why you’ve still got your panties in a bunch, Trinket.”

“My panties are not in a bunch, thank you very much. It was the last night of the season, I would have liked to have discussed what happened but, you didn’t come back to the penthouse. This is the first time we’ve seen each other since then.” Effie huffed.

“Oh, I came back alright.” He nodded, his arms still encased his chest, as if protecting himself from her, “I came back, found you passed out on the couch. You didn’t wonder how you managed to get from the living room and into your bed?”

Effie moved her mouth, she resembled a goldfish as she tried in vain to think of and project something witty or a retort. She had nothing.

“I made sure you were fine first, grabbed my things and crashed with Chaff. Seeder was fine with it. We left first thing in the morning. Thanks for the rum, by the way, lasted a few days.” Haymitch furrowed his brows, exhaled and stared at the point were his lower arms crossed at his chest, as he awaited a response from her.

When nothing came from her, he tilted his head back at stared up at the once semi-intricate pattern of tiles on the ceiling, now they were past disrepair; they were discolored, several were missing and others were threatening to fall at any given moment. Still Haymitch spoke up, “You told me something before you completely passed out in your bed.”

Her expression switched instantly, from absolute disbelief to incredulous horror. Effie swallowed and probed with a mousy tone, “What was that?”

“You told me you thought the kiss wasn’t so bad.”

A sudden rap at the door caused them both to jump. Effie checked the wristwatch she had taken to wearing and smoothed her skirt before she crossed the space between them and heaved open the door, “It’s time to head to the station.” She announced in her overbearing, overly-Capitol tone that matched the ridiculous façade she donned daily.

“You’re not going to say anything? That’s it?” Haymitch cocked his head as he trailed behind her like an obedient puppy.

“This is not something to discuss in public domain, Haymitch. We can talk on the train. Let’s make sure the children feel safe first, I’m going to assume they’ll need training in proper dining etiquette first.”

Once the tears had ceased and the children were quiet, somber, Effie made her way to the bar cart to seek out Haymitch to talk with him. It was much needed, given how they’d left things in the bathroom of the Justice Building.

She found him standing, without shoes or socks, his shirt tail was loose and pulled out from the pants he wore, his belt was slack but still looped through the waistband of his pants. Effie swallowed and entered the car with her head held high. With their height difference, she could exactly look down on him, but try she did.

Effie invited herself to sit; she tucked her skirt under herself first and sat, crossing her legs at the ankle to minimize the risk of exposing anything she didn’t want to, to Haymitch.

“Given the schedule I provided us both with, I’ve had ample time to consider what you think it was I said to you the night of that party.” Effie began, a condescending smirk was etched across her face.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to get high and mighty with me.” Haymitch smirked back, with just as much gumption as she did, “It’s okay you think the kiss wasn’t all that bad. You got different tastes, different itches to scratch. I guess, I’m glad I could’ve been one of them, at least for a few minutes.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Effie scoffed.

“Sweetheart, don’t lose your wig but, I’ve heard you and what’s her name? The one on the stylist team. Not important, I’ve heard how the two of you talk; what men you’ve been with, how they did something a certain way. I know you’re not the prim and proper little miss you make yourself out to be.”

“The very idea of that is just preposterous! I don’t know how y–”

“I get it, you Capitol folk enjoy your sex. You don’t always want the perfect, buff, manicured Capitol peacock to keep your bed warm. Sometimes, you just want the rugged guy from the District with a drinking problem and awful hygiene.” He allowed his smirk to broaden, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Even under the pale powder, Effie knew that he could see her cheeks were flushed. She probably looked like a beetroot. His comment was so on the nail, it was almost as though he had–

“Did you read my journal?” She glared at him.

Haymitch scoffed, “As much as I love snooping through your drawers; those panties with the ribbons are hot, by the way - I am not that much of an asshole.”

“Unbelievable!” She tossed her hands up into the air.

“Will you calm down and lower your voice? You’re going to startle those two. They’re already skittish, I don’t know how they’re going to even make it into the arena.” Haymitch scrubbed over his face with one of his hands and exhaled sullenly.

“I know. They’re just too weak, sickly, even.” Effie nodded and mirrored his sigh.

A couple more days past until the subject was broached again. This time, Haymitch was the one who brought it up, at the dinner table, after the Tributes had acted ‘in an altogether unseemly fashion’ according to Effie. She was sipping on her drink when he made his initial comment and she almost choked.

“Would I want to what again?” She glared.

“I’m just asking, if the opportunity arose, would you take it. To kiss me again.”

Effie snorted, a most unlady-like noise, “Just because the first time was not the worst kiss I’ve ever gotten, doesn’t mean I would be open to another venture.”

“The first time?” Haymitch questioned, he had chosen to focus on that rather than the back-handed insult she had served.

“Excuse me?”

“You said ‘the first time’. So, there will be another time.”

“I– no.” Effie winced, “No, there will not be another time.”

“How do you know there won’t be?”

Effie couldn’t answer his question. For one of the first instances in their five year professional relationship, Effie Trinket was stumped on what to respond with. With her muted indifference, Haymitch took the opportunity to continue.

“Because, just by looking at you, I can see; you’re angled towards me, shows you’re interested in what I’m doing or saying, your pupils are like bloody cat’s eyes when they’re about to pounce, you’ve been licking your lips throughout the entire conversation. Should I go on?”

Again, no response from Effie, so he further supported his argument.

“The kid told me you got upset after you ran away from the party. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? When I hauled you into bed, you told me it wasn’t that bad. When you marched into that bathroom back in Twelve, you looked like you were going to push me up against the wall and just do what you wanted with me. So, what is it princess?”

Effie huffed finally and rolled her eyes, “Okay, fine! I enjoyed it, I wanted it to happen again.” She admitted, “There was something about that kiss that made me want to melt.”

“So, why did you run away? We could have had some fun that night?” Haymitch smirked.

“All I saw were Chaff and your friends cheering you on and I saw that everyone around us was looking and whispering, there were so rumors after that. Rumors I had to deal with while you were drinking yourself into oblivion.” She nodded. Effie had every right to be angry with him.

“Sweetheart…”

“No, don’t. Please.” Effie started, her voice cracked slightly and she had to turn her gaze out of the window, the glittering lights of the Capitol below distracted her for a few moments until she regained her composure, “Caesar wanted me to go on his show, give an interview about our secret affair.”

“Would that even be so bad?”

At that, Effie was done with the conversation; she slid her chair from under the table and stood, “I’m not going to dignify that comment with an answer, Haymitch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a bath and have an early night.”

It took him several moments to process what she had said, when he finally caught up, Haymitch shot out from under the table, almost too quickly that the Avox serving swiftly rushed to catch the cascading chair before it fell from the dining platform.

“Wait, hold up. What do you mean you’re ‘not going to dignify that comment with an answer’?”

“I meant, I’m not going to answer that and the conversation is over.” She challenged him.

“You go from ‘it wasn’t so bad’ to not wanting to even talk about it.”

“A kiss is just a kiss, Haymitch.”

With that, he promptly squared her up against the wall and dropped his mouth against hers. She tasted of veal and red wine, and he felt her deft fingertips at the nape of his neck, as her fingers tangled in his overgrown nest of blond hair.

The same mewl erupted from her throat as it had done the night of the party, the night Haymitch had sauntered over and pressed his mouth hotly to hers. She sought purchase in his mouth this time, wanted to taste the primitive, musky punches and aromas that his tongue had to offer her following their meal.

With his presence in The Capitol, he was showered, clean and had lost most of his regular District tang, though he always managed to find the nearest setting on the showers at the penthouse, which left a pine bouquet in his wake whenever he crossed her path.

He tasted like a hearty stew, one she could imagine he hunched over at his kitchen table during the winter months in Twelve, he tasted delectable. The scratch of stubble against his cheek and throat only served to heighten the rugged sensations he toted often.

When he pulled his face back, her makeup was smudged beyond repair; lipstick was smeared across her mouth and his own, and her distinctly pale cheeks were flushed, he could even see her natural skin tone beneath the blotches of powder that had lost their color.

Effie Trinket was a mess.

A mess he considered he wouldn’t mind seeing messier.

He wanted to see her face without the powder and the rouge, without the wig and the lashes. Without the garish fashion and the costume jewelry. He knew that would never happen, however.

Effie rested her head back against the wall and swallowed. She turned her stormy, steel eyes up at him and slicked her tongue across her lips, “If I ever fight you again when you try to kiss me, remind me of what just happened.” She nodded. A few moments later, her smile caught up and she felt a soft pink slip into her cheeks.

“So, you’d want still want me to kiss you?” He chanced and winced slightly.

Effie only nodded for a few moments before she then spoke up and clarified, “While we’re in the penthouse, anything goes. Outside, you ever try what you tried at the party, you’ll need a permanent access card to the eleventh floor.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t ever let me hear you’ve accepted a dare from Chaff again. I will provide you with your alcohol, you don’t know where he’s getting whatever he’d promised you.” She nodded and subconsciously looked down at the buttons on his shirt, “Besides, I think drinking together could lead to something fun.” She shrugged and extracted herself from between the wall and Haymitch, and sashayed off to take her bath.


	7. The Sleeping Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haymitch and effie happen to find themselves in a predicament they never thought they’d find themselves in - being faced with a sleeping arrangement involving bunk beds - there’s a whole bunch of fun and sassy comments before they end up sleeping in the same bunk

As Effie winced at the sight of the bunk beds that had been provided, she shook her head in absolute distaste. She, of all people, should not be expected to hop on up into a bunk of any kind, top or bottom, that was just too much of a big ask of her to do.As Effie winced at the sight of the bunk beds that had been provided, she shook her head in absolute distaste. She, of all people, should not be expected to hop on up into a bunk of any kind, top or bottom, that was just too much of a big ask of her to do.

Having been raised in one of the more affluent areas of The Capitol, in a house (Haymitch would call it a palace, probably) that had more than five bedrooms, several bathrooms and half bathrooms, and gardens large enough to be considered amply sized to hold a wedding ceremony, Effie was not used to seeing the space-saving stacked sleeping bunks. She was used to the lavish, spacious, elegant bedrooms with four-poster beds and soft pastel drapery.

Effie’s bedroom when she was growing up was just that; the canopy bed, four posts, soft pastel peach, pink and lilac all around her bedroom. She had a dresser fit for a princess, where she’d brush her hair every morning and night with a delicate bristle brush, and she had a Juliet balcony covered with succulents.

As she glanced between the bunks and a swaying Haymitch, Effie tusked and shook her head once more; “If you really think I’m getting into that rickety old thing, you are more delusional than I thought you were.”

Haymitch narrowed his eyes in his semi-drunken stupor and glared at her, accompanied by a sullen pout at her blatant disregard for the sleeping arrangements he’d so kindly made for them, “Come one, sweetheart.” He slurred as he swayed nearer to her.

“Unbelievable!” Effie managed to hiss in the upper decibels.

“Do you really have to be so loud?”

“Did you really think I would just agree to sleep on that?”

“I thought you might have needed a break from being fabulous for once.” Haymitch mumbled.

“When have I ever taken a break from looking fabulous? You _are_ more delusional thought I thought.” Effie scoffed.

“Would you just look at your shoes!” Haymitch raised his voice, “Your feet look like they’re being crippled in those. You can’t tell me those things are comfortable to wear, princess.”

Effie indulged him and glanced down to her feet, Haymitch was right; those shoes were crippling her feet but, that was the price to pay for beauty. She’d told him that before, he just didn’t listen. Effie often wondered where Haymitch went to in his mind whenever she was talking, it was quite evident that he never paid attention to her, yet he always managed to show up (mostly) on time.

“…and the wig, the makeup, it’s all too much, you need a break every once in a while, just to be normal.”

He had continued talking while she thought about how he always ignored her. When she heard him add the word ‘normal’ into a sentence about her, she gasped. A loud, overly-dramatic gasp.

“Enough with the dramatics, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anybody.”

Before Effie could even speak out again and try to defend herself or come up with an excuse as to why his comment was all-in-all ridiculous; just the very thought of her not being fabulous was enough to give herself hives. Haymitch continued on his drunken tirade.

“You’ve got two choices here; top bunk or bottom bunk. I think we all know which one you’re going to choose.” Haymitch smirked.

“What on Earth is that supposed to mean?” She glared at him, hand on her hip as it jutted out, somewhat accentuating her already highlighted curves with the corsets or whatever other waist-cinching undergarments she wore.

“It’s supposed to be a joke, Trinket. Lighten up.” Haymitch then went on to explain to her (with frayed patience) that he meant it to be a joke to lighten the mood, and he’d meant that she would choose the top bunk given how dominating she was, and ‘obviously a top in the sack’.

Effie was more than livid, she didn’t know how to explain to Haymitch that whatever he was insinuating was not something he could be discussing with her, in person; “I, for one, am not one of your drinking buddies.”

“Sweetheart, they should count themselves lucky, I’ve seen you put away alcohol. You could probably drink half of them under the table.” Haymitch chuckled.

Effie gave him a knowing smirk, and if he squinted hard enough, an expression that read she agreed with him. She wasn’t condoning his typical habit but, she had been known to consume almost as much alcohol as him on occasion, usually when she was trying to get over her latest breakup, or whatever paparazzi had snapped a terrible picture of her and published it in the Capitol gossip rags everyone loved poring over so much. Still, she was not about to go and agree with him for anyone to just happen upon.

She turned her focus and the conversation back to the sleeping arrangement they were faced with; she took a moment to compose herself, in no way did she want Haymitch thinking she was playing right into his game.

“To respond to your earlier… comment, I am not about to make a fool of myself for your entertainment. I will take the bottom bunk, if I really have to make a decision.” Effie responded, picking imaginary lint from her dress before she clasped her hands in front of herself and awaited Haymitch’s reply.

“Surprising. I definitely thought you’d be a top, princess.”

Of course, he would resume lowering the tone of the conversation. Effie just _knew_ he would backtrack to their previous if brief, one-sided conversation about her sexual preferences. It was a topic she was not really comfortable sharing with the drunken Victor from District 12. Still, as Effie noticed the obvious surprise across Haymitch’s face, she smirked and casually countered him, “Just because I’m taking the bottom doesn’t mean I’m not a top.”

As she cast her gaze over the suspect bunks, Effie huffed; a compromise was what she was going to need to deal with here. Effie did not fancy her chances with dealing with a drunken Haymitch rolling off the top bunk, nor did she want to potentially wake up in a pool of his vomit because he lacked the basic motor skills to be able to get himself up and to the minuscule bathroom.

“So, you’re going to leave me to make a fool of myself then, sweetheart?” Haymitch scoffed slightly, into the neck of his bottle.

“Oh, you don’t need me to make of fool of yourself. You do that so well on your own, Haymitch.” Effie responded with a sweet smile he knew was served with some malice, for all those times she had had to deal with bringing him back to The Training Center or hauling him into his suite at the penthouse.

“But, you’re lucky I have already thought ahead and envisioned the worst, so you will be staying in the bottom bunk. Also.”

Haymitch’s face scrunched up in confusion as he tried to process what Effie was insinuating. He blinked several times in rapid succession before he then opened his mouth to speak but, swiftly closed it. Multiple times. He looked like a gaping fish out of water.

“Honestly Haymitch, you would think this is the first time anybody has ever suggested you share a bed with them.” Effie scoffed and smirked at him, until she realized that was exactly what was happening.

She dropped her gaze and on her peripheral, noticed that Haymitch set the bottle he had been drinking from on the nightstand beside the bottom bunk. She flicked her eyes in his direction, as he sat on the bunk and exhaled harshly.

“Me and my girl never got the chance to…” He sighed, “Didn’t even get to lay next to each other.” Haymitch shook his head.

“Haymitch…” Effie’s tone was different now. Something he’d never heard before. She saw he looked up at her.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart. The first thing I knew was being pinned to some bed in The Capitol, after my Games. They’d sewn me up but, I wasn’t 100%, you know.” Haymitch felt the need to share with Effie, it was something he’d never done before. He hadn’t even really given Chaff any of those details.

“I am truly sorry, Haymitch.” Effie smoothed the blanket out before she sat on it and placed a friendly, supportive arm around his shoulder, “Having that as a first experience is, of course, not how one would expect it pan out.” Effie exhaled, “I know you don’t typically enjoy sharing your thoughts or feelings but, I am here, if you need to talk. I’m not just the pretty half of the District Twelve team.”

That earned her a scoff from him and he shook his head, “You’re not wrong, Trinket.”

Effie blinked as she watched Haymitch’s expression participate in a metamorphosis; there was no single expression he chose that she could comprehend as something familiar and it wasn’t until he pressed his mouth against hers, that she could taste the strong spirit on his lips and tongue, did she even realized he had taken the opportunity to steal a sloppy kiss from her. It was out of character for him, for both of them.

He pulled back when she didn’t reciprocate the kiss, his gaze immediately dropped to his lap, he wanted to avoid any kind of eye contact with his Escort. It wasn’t until he felt her hands at his jaw, ever-increasingly long, overly adorned nails scratched at the stubble that had grown in overnight, and she pulled his face back to hers.

The kiss was chaste to begin with, as if Effie was testing the waters, finding out whether his initial kiss had been a mistake. After an easy few minutes, she deepened the kiss and he felt the telltale flutter of mink against his cheeks, as her eyes closed and her lashes tenderly beat against his skin, like a butterfly.

Haymitch was the one who pulled away for the second time. Effie’s eyes fluttered open and she furrowed her brows in his direction, she noticed he looked a little green and cleared her throat lightly.

Haymitch stood and wandered off to the bathroom. She watched as he stumbled through the door and kicked it shut with his foot. Effie heard the herald of his belt fastenings coming undone and the zipper of his pants before he cursed and flipped up the toilet seat.

Effie used the opportunity to free herself from the lower bunk. She had no idea what she was doing or what she was getting herself into but, as she looked down at herself, taking in the vibrant colors of her outfit, she swallowed and made the obviously irrational decision: to sleep in the same bed as Haymitch Abernathy, for their own safety.

While Haymitch was occupying the bathroom, Effie took her time in removing her clothing; the puff-ball dress and monstrosities that had adorned her feet. She placed the dress over the rail of the top bunk and huffed as she opened her travel bag, to take out the essentials she needed while Haymitch was in the bathroom - she rolled her eyes at the lack of floss she had packed, and made do with the travel toothpaste as she tore open the packaging on the new toothbrush.

Effie huffed at the lack of a proper dresser she could prepare herself for bed at but, she was also grateful because it meant that she didn’t need to complete her regular routine; she didn’t need nor want Haymitch seeing her without the makeup and the wig he so often teased her about.

Effie clambered onto the lower bunch just as Haymitch made his exit from the bathroom; she was glad of the dimly lit room, as she tucked herself under the light blanket on the bed. She watched as he took calculated strides from the bathroom door to the side of the bed she currently occupied and he stopped just short of the side.

She took the opportunity to clear her throat as he looked down at her. Effie swallowed as he gently posed the question, “Do you want wall or outside?”

Effie didn’t need to think of a response, “Outside is perfectly fine.”

She noticed how he waited expectantly before he smirked and kicked off his shoes. After her announcement that she would take the outside segment of the bunk, she pulled the blanket up around herself and shifted into a semi-seated position, to allow Haymitch the space he would need to scoot past her and into the space beside the wall.

Knowing Effie was watching him, Haymitch turned, taking his sweet time in tugging off his socks, putting on a _real_ show for her. As he turned back, he first noticed her dress hanging over the guard rail of the top bunk bed and he tugged off his shirt, thankful for the darkened room.

The moment his shirt ascended his body, Effie’s eyes transfixed on his abdomen, and just as he draped his shirt over the same rail her dress hung from, he noticed her gaze on his form.

Her sudden obsession with his abdomen, even in the timid lighting gave Haymitch cause to smirk. And, he made a point to shuck off his pants before he turned his focus back to a now flushed (he assumed) Effie.

Haymitch knelt on the bed first, testing the water almost, to see how close in proximity he could to Effie before she tapped out. When that didn’t come as he’d expected, he seated himself on the bed and tucked his legs up and under him, in his preparation to slide over to the walled side of the bunk. On his relatively subtle journey, Haymitch was anything but subtle - he brought his face so close to Effie’s, he could smell the travel toothpaste on her mouth.

The tiny gasp didn’t go unnoticed by Haymitch either, and Effie was painfully aware he had heard the gasp and noticed the breath catch in her throat. As she settled back down into her sleeping position, she swallowed and turned her body away from Haymitch, just as she felt his legs shift under the blanket and spread a little.

Effie willed herself to regulate her breathing, to calm herself down but, nothing she did could quell the scenarios racing through her mind at the knowledge Haymitch Abernathy was sharing her sleeping quarters. All Effie could think of was the dimly lit, demurely highlighted abdomen she had seen as he had rid himself of his shirt.

With the knowing he was sleeping behind her, beside her, Effie struggled to compose herself and ended up knocking her wig askew in the process. She figured Hyamitch had fallen asleep almost instantly, though as his breathing was slowed, regular, deep. Effie chanced a peek over her shoulder and found he was, indeed, asleep already.

A slumbering Haymitch was something she had dealt with before on numerous occasions, that typically ended up in him being rudely awakened and lashing out at the unsuspecting volunteer who’d taken their chances in waking him. Effie tossed the thought aside, however, as it meant there was the possibility she would have to deal with an unceremoniously aggressive Haymitch come the morning.

She swiftly reached over and shut off the lamp, she welcomed the total darkness, she welcomed the gentle and tender thoughts the darkness and silence brought. Usually, the nighttime is when she did her best thinking, her best journaling. That night, she couldn’t focus with the extra white noise of Haymitch’s breathing just centimeters behind her.

At some point during the night, Haymitch had rolled over and wrapped his arm around Effie’s waist, the blanket was halfway down her torso and he had a _very_ good view of her cleavage when he lifted his head from the pillow. She was out, slumbering peacefully - he figured she needed the hours, she worked so hard to make sure everything was just fabulous.

With his arm wrapped around her waist, he drifted off to sleep once again, knowing that he was safe with someone else sharing his sleeping area and knowing that she would feel protected. Perhaps.

Effie woke up some time later, just as the morning sun started to pierce the delicate lace of the window coverings. She was first conscious that she was not in her own bedroom, then she became aware of the other presence in the bed with her. Her attention was brought to the arm wrapped somewhat possessively around her midriff and the nest-like mass of dirty blonde hair on the pillow beside her.

Effie swallowed and flicked her eyes around the room; her dress was just visible, still hanging from the rung she had draped it over the previous night. She was still clothed in her undergarments, and her makeup and wig were still somewhat in tact. All she wanted was to get up and out of the bunk without disturbing the still sleeping, infamous Haymitch.

As she began to peel back the blanket to make a swift exit from the bed, Haymitch apparently had other ideas and pressed himself up against her and tightened his hold around her waist. Effie was trapped. She then felt the smile against her shoulder.

“Where d’you think you’re running away to, sweetheart?” He mumbled into the tactile skin where her shoulder and her neck met.

“Oh, good, you’re up. Could you please let me go?” Effie responded, in her usual too-chipper manner.

“Just stay in the bed, Trinket. You take coffee?” He asked her.

Before Effie could respond, Haymitch was heaving himself up and back over her in a similar fashion to how he had gotten himself into the bed; his face came even closer to hers and her flicked his steel eyes between her cerulean.

Effie felt as though she were going to pass out. In the instant he had hovered above her, teasing her, Haymitch was gone - up and out of the bed, in search of coffee to make and bring back to the bunk.

“Did you sleep well?” Effie finally found her voice.

“I did.” Haymitch nodded, “Didn’t even need to unpack my knife.”


	8. Tokens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot: haymitch is stuck thinking about the tokens idea effie brought to the metaphorical table; while she gifts her boys their gold tokens, haymitch brings her something special - it may be the last time they see each other, after all

When there had been talk of tokens before, Haymitch hadn’t been listening. Effie had briefly mentioned her idea of tokens before they’d boarded the train, before they’d seen the last of District Twelve, as everyone knew it; still standing. Once they’d boarded the train and were powering along the tracks to The Capitol for the Quarter Quell, Haymitch had paid attention, mostly because of Effie’s dress.

She looked like she typically did; a clown, with the full face of makeup and the wig, and the obnoxious colors but, whenever she tried to maintain her dignity and squat rather than bend, Haymitch still managed to catch just the tiniest flash of panties, the slender curve of her thigh - it was enough to set his mind racing.

On the train, there had been an emotional exchange; Effie had proclaimed that tokens would be a great idea and that it would show ‘them’ - Haymitch assumed she had meant The Capitol, Snow, the audience, that they were a team.

Effie, as far as Haymitch could remember, had always been emotional; she was never one to shy away from theatrics, regardless of the situation. Effie always insisted that whenever she ‘overreacted’ it was merely because his manners were dispicable. She was dramatic because ‘everyone else’ was in The Capitol, if you weren’t dramatic, what were you?

He paid attention to her on the train, it was obvious it meant something to her. Was she privy to what he and Plutarch had been cooking since the Victory Tour? Did she know something was happening, and did she want to be brought in on what they were forming; the coded messages, the meetings at dive bars, the specifically worded letters that highlighted the importance of the impending Rebellion and Katniss’s key role among the mission?

Haymitch didn’t know but, he’d noticed the pain etched across her face when she spoke about being a team. He wasn’t certain of what had made her features screw up with such affliction, he assumed it was the fact that she was almost certain that she wouldn’t be bringing home her Victors alive.

He had watched how Katniss had taken her hand, cutting off her speech before it had become too unbearable for Effie to continue and she completely broke down; the last thing anybody needed or wanted before arriving in The Capitol would have been a sobbing Effie Trinket on their hands. Haymitch felt something though and had been compelled to reach across the short distance to take her other hand; they _were_ a team.

There was something about the discomfort on her face that stuck with Haymitch, even as they went about their regular Games schedules; the interviews, the preparations, the parties - everything was as usual but, everything felt more somber. For most, it was a last ditch effort to enjoy the finer things in life. Most knew what was coming once the Rebellion was in motion.

While Effie was busy running errands and dealing with the press releases, the preparations for Katniss and Peeta, buying the boys their much-awaited, promised golden tokens, Haymitch was busy wondering what he could do to cheer Effie up. It was a tough time, after all.

The two, he remembered, had made much progress in whatever their professional (and personal) relationship was. At the beginning, when Effie had been assigned to District Twelve, he had tried to do everything in his power to make he resign, or get her fired (whichever had the outcome of her not being his Escort) but, he soon realized that Effie Trinket had gumption. She was the polar opposite of him; they clashed often but, where she was yin, he was yang.

During the first couple of Games, there had been occasions when he thought she was almost going to quit, a plan he had intentionally made but, he saw what the other Escorts were like, and he begged Effie not to leave him. Haymitch knew he took her for granted; she did everything he was supposed to take care of, as well as her own set of responsibilities. They argued over details, minor and major but, they seemed to have developed a mutual understanding of each other’s needs by then.

As the Games continued, so did their disagreements; some were more serious than others but, all of which ended up with Haymitch eventually begging her not to leave, in his own non-descript way. And, it had been during Annie Cresta’s Games that they had fallen into bed together. _That_ had solidified his need for her to never leave.

And now, he faced the imminent probability that he’d never see her after the Rebellion was instigated. He wanted to do something special for her. Something to repay her for the countless nights she had worked tirelessly completing the paperwork for their dead Tributes, the days she had attended meetings with lecherous sponsors to try and at least provide some water for their still-remaining Tributes in the arena. Something to remind her that he cared.

Haymitch remembered; he didn’t know how (he knew exactly how - she’d pounded her admiration for the piece into his face for forever), that Effie had been obsessed with a delicate gold-set emerald encrusted ring. To him, it looked like a costume piece but, he knew she would know exactly when to wear it and how to pair it with her fashion for that day. It was perfect for her.

While she was out at a magazine interview, detailing inside scoop on how Katniss and Peeta were madly in love and were terrified at the possibility of losing one another, at a ridiculously priced lounge, Haymitch had gone out of his way to find and purchase the ring she had longed for. After searching high and low, all over The Capitol, he finally found the store that had Effie’s ring. In haste, he bought it, not even caring too much for the price tag it asked for.

That evening would be their last evening together as Tributes, Mentor and Escort, in the penthouse they had grown to love over the years they had been the dynamic duo of District Twelve. Haymitch, although sullied with the hatred for The Games and all things Capitol (Effie exempt), he wanted to make the evening special; she deserved it.

The Tribute interviews with Caesar went by in a blur, for Haymitch sitting in the audience, he was focused solely on the other Tributes, mainly the one’s who he had roped into being allies for Katniss and Peeta. For Effie, she was lost in thoughts as she helped Katniss get ready in her wedding dress, Johanna commenting on how she should make Snow pay for everything. For Katniss and Peeta, they wanted nothing more than to call off the Games and be back home in Twelve, as though nothing had happened. Katniss knew that the Quarter Quell was her fault, she hadn’t convinced Snow that she and Peeta were in love.

With the bombshell Peeta dropped about he and Katniss expecting a baby, the mood shifted from tense to bordering on the audience starting a riot in the sweeping studio. The interviews were finished, the audience silenced and the studio emptied but, it didn’t stop the buzz and hope the Tributes had ignited.

The Tributes were returned to their floors at The Training Center, their Mentors and Escorts were asked to remain in the studio with Caesar and the executives, to formally announce that The Games would continue to go ahead, and they were dismissed. The Capitol didn’t want to hear suggestions, opinions or other, they were set on seeing The Games happen. Plutarch, at the center, helming for everything to continue as planned. Only he and Haymitch aware of the reasoning behind the urge to quench The Capitol’s thirst for bloody entertainment.

As planned, Haymitch and Effie arrived back at the penthouse, freshened up for the final event before their Tributes were to leave in the morning, and met with them. Both made for their nightstands, to retreive the small boxes the tokens had been placed in. They met in the hallway, outside the Katniss’s bedroom. They each game each other a melancholy half-smile before they entered the room to speak with Katniss and Peeta for the final time.

He knew that Effie was on the verge of tears, so he took the lead in speaking to Katniss and Peeta; he felt her eyes on him, though.

“The Games are still on. This is goodbye. For now.”

She swallowed and turned her gaze down to the black, leather-bound boxes in her gloves hands. She had been imagining the moment she would be able to give Peeta his golden medallion and Haymitch the bangle. In her mind, the moment had been more touching, more empowering - the moment they had seemed rushed, stolen.

Effie turned to Haymitch, tears had welled in the corners of her eyes as she listened to the emotions in just that sentence. There was something about that sentence that didn’t hit right away: _This is goodbye. For now._

As she turned back to their Tributes, she swallowed back the tears and flicked on her Capitol persona with ease, as she announced she had brought the presents for the boys. As Haymitch took his box, she felt the callous fingers brush against hers, even through the flamingo pink gossimer gloves she wore over her hands.

He acted as though he had forgotten everything she had been bringing up at any opportunity she had had to talk about their tokens and how they were a team. He wanted her token to be special. He didn’t want to outshine what she had done for the three of them.

The moment concluded with Effie rushing off after admitting she was truly sorry and that she thought that Katniss and Peeta deserved so much better than what had happened to them; Reaped by her the previous year (volunteered, in Katniss’ case), tossed into an arena where they had had to fight to the death, survived excruciating psychological tortures, only to be Reaped once again. To have to go through it all. Again.

The final glance to Haymitch, meeting his eyes with her tears threatening to spill was something he never forgave himself for letting her leave; he still had advice to give Katniss and Peeta, though. But, when he was able to leave the room, having promised Katniss he would do everything he could to keep them (not just Peeta) alive, he rushed to find Effie.

He had expected to find her at the dining table, sobbing over a glass of whatever cocktail was in the pitcher the Axoves had left behind. He actually found her in her bedroom, back to the door as she sat at her dresser, her things mostly packed away for returning back to her own apartment. She was sobbing quietly and didn’t notice that he had rapped lightly on the door, nor had entered her living space.

“Sweetheart…” he used one of his favorite monikers for her, to garner her attention. When she turned, he noticed she had peeled away the camel-like lashes from her lids and her cheeks were tracked with streaks of tears.

Haymitch glanced back out into the hallway, on the verge of his decision; he wanted to make sure the children weren’t around to see him in a moment of weakness. They needed someone to be strong before going into the arena again. When he was certain they were not in eye or earshot, he ducked into Effie’s bedroom and clicked the door closed behind himself.

He had seen her once before, without the habitual adornments she favored but, he had never seen her before looking so sullied. It pained him to see her like that; she had truly grown to care for the children, she heard what they said but, didn’t always understand. But now, seeing them being forced to fight again, to provide The Capitol with entertainment, and the Districts with some fear, she understood why they hated The Capitol.

“Haymitch…” She started, a sob rattled through her and she turned her face away from him. She didn’t want him to see her so vulnerable, so normal.

He crossed to the plush chair she had set up near the window, on a small raised platform, where she could peruse the latest columns or drink her tea. Taking a much-needed load off his feet, Haymitch eyed her cautiously; he wasn’t equipped to comfort her, she was the one who provided comfort to scared and lonely Tributes.

When she turned her face back to him, he noticed she had managed to gain some semblance of composure, as she spoke up, “They have to stay alive. They have to win.” She blubbered. Effie knew the chances of them surviving through the previous-Victor Quarter Quell were slim. Bringing home two Victors again was impossible, bringing home one Victor was highly unlikely.

“You know I’m going to do everything I can to keep ‘em alive, princess. I’m not sending them in there unaware of what could happen, and how to deal with it. I know this year, they’ll have people wanting to be their allies, they’ll get sponsors.”

“They’re the youngest in there.”

“They are but, they’re certainly not the weakest. Being the youngest has it advantages and disadvantages. They’ve both got experience, they’re fresh out of the Games. Probably the most trained for combat right now.” He shrugged, not really believing his own comment and not sure who he was trying to convince more; Effie or himself.

Effie flicked her eyes up at his; she had that kicked puppy expression. Her eyes were watery, fresh tears formed in the corners of her eyes and her lower lip quivered still, “They deserve so much better. _You_ deserved so much better.” She sniffed back a sob and lifted her hands to begin unpinning the golden wig from her head.

“Leave it on.” He mumbled as he watched her dexterous, now-bare fingers start to fumble for the hair pins under the strands of gold and flaxen.

Effie whipped her face to his direction with a questioning expression, it prompted him to continue, to repeat his original comment, and she dropped her hands from the wig. She allowed them to rest in her lap for a moment, as she watched him.

He was tense. She knew that much, she could see it. There was something on his mind, too. He was searching for the correct words to say:

“We’re a team, sweetheart.”

That was not what she had been expecting but, before Effie could process anything, Haymitch had stood from the wing-backed chair and had produced a small jewelry box. She eyed it suspiciously before she tentatively took it from his shaky hand.

“Effie…” He began. He used her name this time, not ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’ or even ‘Trinket’. It gave her cause to stare up at him, “Effie look, you know I’m not good with words. You’re the one who’s got that down. You do everything for District Twelve.”

She swallowed and continued to peer up at him from under her naked lids, tears still glistened in the corners of her eyes. Haymitch trying to find the words to say to her was something that she deemed too serious. Part of her wanted him to stop, for fear of them both breaking down but, there was a part of her that wanted him to continue, to hear what he had to say to her.

“Honestly, Effie, I don’t know what I would have done without you all this time. We didn’t always see eye-to-eye but, that’s fine, not everyone does. Especially not right away.” Haymitch took the dip in speech to take the opportunity to glance at her, peer into those deep pools and see what she was really thinking, really feeling.

“You’ve done incredible things for District Twelve. I know if our roles were reversed, I would have quit after the first year of having to deal with me. What I said back there, with Katniss and Peeta, it is goodbye, for now.” He furrowed his brows at his own comment. Haymitch wished it didn’t have to be like this but, he had found a way to help her get out of everything unscathed.

“I wanted to make this as special for you, as it is for them.” He gave a little nod to the box in her hand, “I know you’ve wanted that for a while. This is my ‘I truly am sorry’.”

Taking the cue from him, Effie opened the tiny box he had presented her with. The first thing she saw were the emeralds, then the gold and then that it was the ring she had lusted over. Effie’s mouth dropped open at the sight; the initiative he’d had to remember the exact ring and to then purchase it, just for her.

“Haymitch…” She breathed, as she plucked it from the velvet rungs it lay between and she held it up to inspect. The fact _he_ had bought it for _her_ was greater than the fact he had bought anything for her. She swallowed, “It’s beautiful.”

He reached for her hand, as similarly and as familiarly as he had done on the train to The Capitol but, Effie decided to forego his hand and leaned to press her mouth to his. A tender kiss that had been practiced over the years.

“Effie, I’m sorry. You too, deserve much better than this.” Haymitch whispered suddenly, his forehead pressed against hers, as he took the box from her hand and placed it behind her on the dresser. He took her hand and stood, helping her to rise from her seat.

She gandered at the bed, looming ominously in the midst the room. Even with all the space they had, the size of the bedroom was overbearing, she felt like they were suffocating. Effie peered down to her feet, her eyes skimmed the flurry of colors on the confectionary burst of her dress and she slicked her tongue over her lips, she had a choice to make; turn Haymitch away, bid him goodnight for what could be the final time (the conversation they had shared eluded to lasts), or welcome him into her bed for the final time.

Her heart was faster than her mind but, her mind made the same decision as her heart; she turned her focus back to Haymitch’s face and leaned up to press her mouth back against his.

Before, their encounters had ranged from lazy, drunken romps to desperate, dirty fucks. Their encounter that evening was none of those things, there was something altogether different, it could have been classed as love-making.

Haymitch cradled her head (at some point, she had removed her golden wig), stroked the bare thigh at his waist; Effie hooked her limbs around his body like a tendril, clung to his torso. They moved together, held each other’s gaze, as she welcomed his languid, steady thrusts. He pressed his face into her neck as he grunted, she shed a tear as he spilled himself into her.

They embraced for a while afterward, until Effie had succumbed to slumber. Haymitch freed himself from her sheets, from under her feline stretch over him, to dress himself and deliver his token to Katniss and Peeta’s ally within the Games.

Before Haymitch left Effie’s room, he turned back to the bed and saw her shift, awake and search for him; the cover fell from around her body and he licked his lips before he heard her ask him where he was going. He replied almost audibly that he needed some air and she should go back to sleep, it would be a big, big, big, big day tomorrow.

Tomorrow was the last time Haymitch and Effie saw each other. It was a _big, big, big, big day_ \- and she understood now why he too, was truly sorry.


	9. Sandwiched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot: Hayffie involving lingerie (based on Elizabeth’s episode of Law & Order: SVU, in which she played a porn star who took her daughter to work and the set was interrupted by the detectives looking for her character) - prompt from the-hayffie-penthouse.tumblr.com

Since her stint as District Twelve’s Escort had propelled her into the limelight in The Capitol, Effie had taken advantage of the extra attention, and booked interviews, television and radio appearances, and a multitude of photoshoots. All of the extra attention managed to keep her busy for the best of the year when The Games weren’t officially in motion.

She was young enough to hold the attention of almost anybody in The Capitol; teens, women, and men. Especially the men. She got _a lot_ of attention from men. Some was friendly, some was flirtatious, some she even took up on their offers of dinner or a fun time but, there were the occasions when the attention was unwelcomed, creepy.

Effie had been use to those advances, they had been happening for years; being an attractive female in The Capitol usually meant dealing with the unwanted attention from lecherous males. She had always been told to grin and bear it by her mother, and probably her mother before that - it was a woman’s duty to look pretty, be seen and not heard, and all that.

Effie was not convinced.

One time, she slapped a man for trying to grope her over her dress. He slapped her back, so she slapped him back even harder. They never saw each other again, and no man touched her without her consent after that.

In the first two years of being District Twelve’s Escort, Effie had taken The Capitol by storm; the Escort to the underdogs, they’d dubbed her and The Capitol loved it. The story of how she always managed to wrangle the infamous Haymitch Abernathy at parties, while managing to maintain a proper appearance was applaudable. Nobody understood how she could do it but, she soon became the favorite.

By her third year of Escorting, Effie had grown a fanbase larger Cashmere and Gloss’s combined. But, it was following the crowning of the Victor of the 65th Hunger Games (Finnick Odair) that everything really kicked off for Effie.

She had been invited to participate in a photoshoot at The Capitol’s most renowned magazine publication, along with the other ‘Hottest of 65’ a list that included previous Victors-turned-Mentors, fashion designers, influencers and models, Effie was the only Escort included on the list.

The concepts for each of the shoots were different; Victor of the 59th Games, Cecelia’s shoot consisted of her draped in angelic silks as she cradled her growing belly, a real Venus vibe. Previous Escort for District Three, turned fashion designer, Cassandra Bubblebaum’s concept was a chariot ride, as though she were a Tribute, wearing one of her own creations.

For Effie’s concept, the stylists had borrowed from her own life; there had recently been a story leaked, in which it had been reported Effie had taken two men home on the same night. In The Capitol, gossip moved quickly but, this story continued to resurface every few weeks, when someone or other claimed to have been one of the men she had shared her bed with that night. No matter what Effie did to try and scrub the columns of the story, nothing worked.

The stylist had ran with it, however, and two _very_ attractive male models had been hired to play the two men she had _supposedly_ taken home, and her outfit had been carefully selected. It was a barely-there outfit, really.

Upon arriving at the studio, Effie was ushered into hair and makeup, to make sure she was ready to whip off the comfies she had arrived in and change into the costume they’d laid out for her, for her photoshoot.

Before she had left that morning, Effie was aware of what needed to be done during the day but, she wasn’t certain what time she would return to the penthouse. The children had already driven Haymitch to hole himself up in his room with the largest bottle of liquor he could find. without seeing him before she left (before dawn broke, mostly to avoid being photographed in her comfortable clothes and without makeup), Effie left him a note, detailing what was to be completed before she arrived back later on.

She had written the studio’s address on the note, just for emergencies, and had signed the note off with a; _we’ll talk about what happened last night later, do not drink too much, you’ll want a clear head. - Effie_ and she thought nothing of it, as she allowed the penthouse door to close behind her and she left the Training Center as inconspicuously as she could.

The stylist helped her change out of her own clothing and into the costume for the shoot; a matching red set, complete with sheer red stockings, red pumps and a tiny, sheer, white apron. They hadn’t told her about what the concept would be, and as she donned the lingerie, careful not to muss up her hair (they’d blown out her own hair, they hadn’t thought a wig would be as appealing).

The outfit, or lack thereof, was revealing. Revealing was an understatement. As she watched Cassandra wrapping up her shoot in the chariot, Effie held the robe closed around her shoulders, as the photographer for her shoot came over to her, to discuss what he wanted her to do, where he wanted her.

“Effie, sweetie…” A couple of air kisses, “We’re running slightly behind schedule but, that’s alright for you, I hope?” He didn’t give her a moment to breathe, let alone give her response time, “Cassandra’s almost finished. They will reset the space for your shoot and we’ll go snap happy for about an hour.”

Effie nodded, her Capitol smile as arduous as ever, as she listened to what he had to say; he rattled off a few more details before she was able to speak up, “What exactly is the concept, may I ask?”

The photographer and the stylist exchanged a glance before the photographer gave a brief, yet condescending chortle, “Oh, it’s nothing you can’t handle, honey. You’re a pro, by now.”

Cassandra’s shoot ended, the dressers came in to reset the set for Effie’s shoot and she caught a glimpse of two male models on her peripheral. They were smirking and chatting in hushed tones, one glanced over to her, gestured in her direction with a nod and the other followed his line of sight until his eyes fell on her, too.

“I’m surprised your ears are not burning right now.” Cassandra smirked as she passed behind Effie, “The way those two are staring you down like you’re a piece of meat. I can only imagine the sordid ideas running between them.”

“I’m sorry?” Effie turned her face to Cassandra.

“They’ve gotta know about that story, right?”

“What story? I apologize, I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“Effie, sweetie, we’re ready for you!” The photographer chimed up as the final dresser rushed off the set; an elegant apartment living room, with the most intricate decor, coupled with the largest stain on the whitest, most plush shag rug she’d ever seen.

Cassandra lowered her tone and muttered into Effie’s ear; “The one where you took home two men…?”

It finally registered for Effie; they wanted her to recreate a scene similar to what had been detailed in the story that had originally hit the gossip columns. The models, she realized, were adorned in less revered versions of Gamemakers uniforms; tailored shirts that had tear-away panels and sleeves, and pants that could be ripped off at the waist or mid-thigh.

The photographer called the models onto the set first, both were closely followed by makeup artists to do touch-ups under the set lighting. The duo were given instructions; one was told where to stand (close to one end of the couch, and lean against the cabinet to re-fill the glass he had spilled onto the rug), the other was told to sit on the edge of the seat cushion on the couch and watch as the liquid soaked into the rug.

Once the models were in place, Effie was called to the set. She dreaded it. There had been a reason why they hadn’t told her the details about the shoot; they were worried if she found out, she wouldn’t have agreed to it.

As she passed by the photographer, she noted the psuedo-assuring smile he tried to muster but, she noticed there was something underneath the assuring part. Was it malice? Effie strutted onto the living room set and took in the dressing, it was realistic, she had to applaud that much.

While she admired the set dressers’ work, a stylist brushed by her and briskly forced the robe from her shoulders and hurried off the set once more, the sudden cold burst of air against her skin caused a rapid chain reaction of goose flesh to appear and she pulled her arms around herself, suddenly self-conscious.

Her photographer ‘friend’ stepped onto the set next and gave her her set of instructions, he wanted to tell a story with the shoot; she was to first stand between the models, her attention on the model standing and ply him with her attention. Next, she was supposed to perch on the edge of the couch, with one leg crossed over the other at the knee and notice the other model, and flirt with him.

The photographer then told her that the standing model would fight for her attention by spilling his drink on her expesive rug and she was to kneel on the floor, between the models, and reach for the cleaning products to try to scrub the rug clean. An obvious metaphor for the public erasure Effie had tried to close several times.

Effie knew that he had been right about one thing; she _was_ a pro. Effie knew exactly how to conduct herself, how determine situations, how to rule them in her own favor. She had always been good at that.

She took on the instructions from the photographer, and gave more than he asked for. Effie Trinket did not do anything by halves. If they wanted to illustrate the supposed night she’d had, she would give it to them, on her own terms. She was a powerhouse, when she wanted to be.

She worked her way through different poses, different scenarios in the same positions, as the photographer clicked away and sang her praises. He was one of _those_ photographers whho encouraged her by telling her that ‘the camera loves her’. She felt as though she wanted to cringe.

She worked through a few more possibilities for scenarios, giving the photographer and magazine some additional options to run with, if they wanted to and by the time she was in the final position; kneeling between the two models, resting on her hands and knees, she was ready to pack herself up and go back to the penthouse, to spend the day in quiet anonymity with the children and a hungover Haymitch.

She heard him before she saw him; he was gruff sounding and aggressive with whomever had told him he couldn’t enter the closed set. She’d heard him bellow, “Don’t you know who I am?” and she realized that she would be dealing with an inebriated Haymitch, rather than a hungover Haymitch.

Someone, he had managed to force his way into the studio and was clutching onto a half-full bottle of liquor, she wasn’t sure it was the same bottle from the previous night. She inwardly cowered and glanced around for the stylist who’d whisked away her robe, cursing their ability to remain hidden in the shadows, only to be seen when needed.

“Trinket!” Haymitch shouted, his shirt was hanging loose from the waist of his pants and she wasn’t sure but, it looked as though he was missing a shoe. Still, Effie said nothing, did not make her presence known.

“Sweethea– oh, shit!”

Too late.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” She hissed, standing from her position on the floor. Her new stance made her more exposed, (un)luckily for Haymitch, and she noticed that after a brief seconds he stared and drank in the sight before him, he turned away and flushed. Effie was uncertain if was what he’d seen or from the liquor.

Without the presence of the stylist or her robe, Effie decided it was best to try and take ownership of the situation; she tucked her hand daintily on her hip and glared Haymitch down, “I asked you what you’re doing here.”

Haymitch swallowed and gripped the neck of the bottle of liquor tighter, “You left early, left some weird note for me to find and this address.” He mumbled, looking anywhere but at Effie.

“I left the address in case of an _emergency_! Is this an emergency?” Effie hissed and huffed before she stormed to the edge of the set and dragged him off to the side; she heard a quick ‘Everybody take five’ in the background.

Even in close proximity, Haymitch dared not to look at Effie. He knew that even in his inebriated state, he could not trust himself to make a fool of himself, of her or of their District. Yet again.

“Am I going to have to take a guess?” She probed, prompting him to speak up.

“– was lonely.” He mumbled again before he bowed his head.

Big. Mistake.

On the way down, his eyes caught sight of her usually limited cleavage encased in the dangerously red lingerie. She looked like fire. She _was_ fire. The cleavage he’d glimpsed did nothing to help his situation, or to win whatever argument this was going to turn into.

“You were lonely?” She questioned, she was glowering.

“Last thing I remember was you shouting at me, I slammed the door and when I woke up, you were gone. No explanation, just this fucking note.”

“I told you I had an appointment. Yesterday. Yesterday, I told you about this, Haymitch.”

“I thought you’d gone and quit on me, princess.”

“You really think I would quit, all because you shouted at me for the umpteenth time since we began working together?” Less than a beat passed and she continued, “For the record, if I had quit, do you _really_ think it would have been wise to storm in here in whatever state you’re in right now?! Honestly, Haymitch!”

She continued on whatever tirade she had started. Haymitch caught the occasional ‘in all my years’ and ‘this is why we’re the laughing stock of Panem’ as he subtely took in the curves presented before him. When her shouting stopped, Haymitch turned his gaze to the models who had been chortling in his peripheral.

“What’s this shoot for?” He asked her, suddenly interested in _why_ she was dressed as she was.

“I told you, I made the Hottest of 65 List. All of the honorees have their own shoot with their own concept.”

“Did you put this ‘concept’ together?” He used air quotations, something he never did.

Effie stammered for words for a moment before she shook her head and it was her time to glance down at her feet, his obvious arousal did not go unnoticed.

“What are they trying to achieve with– whatever this is?” Haymitch fluffed his hands in the air, in the general direction of the set she had just occupied.

“They wanted to use that story from the last Victory Tour.” Effie murmured, she continued without needing to be prompted, “That night I took home two men.”

“Well, that was a stupid idea.” Haymitch rebuttaled.

Effie immediately felt a wave of something washing over her, and before she could flee from the scene, Haymitch had staggered over to the photographer.

“Was this your idea?” He questioned, his words were slurred.

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

“I’m here to tell you that it was a stupid idea. You know what she’s been through with this whole thing?” He raised his voice, “Every time the rags you people read seem to have forgotten about it, another one brings it up and she has to deal with that on her own.”

Effie stared at the exchange between the photographer and Haymitch. Her mouth was wide, like a guppy. Was Haymitch defending her life choices…?

“Next time you have a bright–” He belched mid-sentence but, continued anyway, wide-eyed, “idea, you ask the person if it’s alright before you get your self, little self set up.”

“I assure you–” The photographer tried to reason with the drunkard.

“Sweetheart, did you know about this set-up before you started today?” He hollered at Effie, who’d now donned the robe that had been snatched from her as she had stepped onto the set earlier. Haymitch didn’t bother looking to her, he stared the photographer down, challenging him.

“No.” She replied lightly, “But, it’s not important.”

“Oh, it’s important alright.” Haymitch chuckled, “How many times you nagged me about how much manners matter, and that I need to clean up my act, huh?”

Effie was silent. With Haymitch, it was different.

“Exactly, this guy thinks he can do this once, he’s going to do it again. With you, with some little Tribute…”

“Haymitch, it’s fine. I’m fine. I think it’s best if we just leave.” Effie tried, plucking up the courage to nod at the stylist to retrieve her clothes, so she could make a swift exit with Haymitch.

“Fine.” Haymitch threw his hands up in the air, resolute to let the situation pass. After a brief moment, he whirled around and punched the photographer square in the face, sending the smaller man reeling backward, holding his face.

“Haymitch! We are leaving, this minute!” Effie hissed at him.

“Sure, you can thank me or not but, make sure you bring that number you’re wearing back to the penthouse, I want to enjoy that.” Haymitch smirked and gave a final hiccup before he shuffled toward the door he had initially stormed through.


End file.
